


To Think Of You In Colors

by sickbed_00



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Armitage Hux, Secret Relationship, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickbed_00/pseuds/sickbed_00
Summary: Time for more of that sweet Kylux AU. Armitage Hux is the cold, inaccessible Omega son of a wealthy landowner who refuses to settle down with an Alpha. His father, Brendol is growing increasingly violent in his insistence to marry off his son. But Hux's life on Johns Island, the river bordered island south of Charleston is about to be rocked by the first shots of the Civil War, and a mysterious, dark-eyed Captain from New Orleans named Ren Solo whose intentions are still not clear. To complicate things further, his previous suitor Poe Dameron is back from the western territories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyP15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyP15/gifts).



The title comes from an untitled poem by Christopher Poindexter.

_Whenever I am away from you,_

_The distance between us_

_A burdensome thing,_

_I always think of you in colors,_

_The smell of coffee as you so_

_Proudly make it for me,_

_The perfect sunlight_

_Spilling in through the window._

_I miss you even when you_

_Are beside me._

_I dream of your body_

_Even when you are sleeping_ _In my arms._

_The words I love you_

_Could never be enough._

_I suppose we'll have to invent_

_New ones._

_`  
` _

* * *

The sun sat like a freshly cracked golden yoke upon the clouds. Warm light filtered through the shrouds of Spanish moss, danced upon the crystalline frost that clung to the grass and washed over Armitage’s Hux’s shoulders. A small shiver rattled through him but never did his eye waver from the sight of his gun. He had been waiting too long in the damp earth, crouched down in a painful position to get distracted now.

Carpets of mist began to ebb from the meadow. Hux’s thumb positioned itself on the hammer.

From the brush strode his prize; a male turkey, at least twenty-pounds, his plumage on full display. Rarely did this breed of fowl manage to find its way to John’s Island. Hux was roused at daybreak with its unfamiliar cry, when the sky was still dotted with stars and dusty blues and pinks swirled around the horizon. In this half-dark Hux made haste to ready his gun and button a coat over his long underwear. Like a cat he slinked through the Hux homestead, Arkanis Hall, nabbed his boots and headed into the cool March morning.

Allegretto, his black Morgan mare, made good on her namesake and flew fearlessly into the budding dawn. Scarcely two years old, Hux had firmly broken her in at the first sign of spring. Jumps and creeks posed no threat to her. She was his absolute pride and joy and a new partner in early morning escapes.

The turkey let out another strange cry. A mating cry, Hux assumed. Spring was a common time for most birds to seek out a partner.

Hux pulled back the hammer.

 _Poor bastard_ , he thought, _but that’s what happens when you look for love…_

Fire cracked as a bullet went straight through the turkey’s heart.

Doves flew from the trees and a few rabbits scurried from the brush.

Hux rose from his crouched position. His back cracked and he felt an intense need to stretch his arms as far up over his head as he could. Without brushing away the leave and dirt from the knees of his pants, Hux went and collected up the carcass and carried it to where Allegretto patiently waited, gnawing on the upturned end of a fallen oak tree.

“Found yourself some breakfast, eh girl?” He asked sweetly as he hooked the turkey to the saddle. Allegretto snored and craned her long neck around, her big brown eyes begging for an affectionate touch. Hux smoothed his palm along the grain of hair on her cheek. “There are hay bales back at the house,” he told her, “so, let’s hurry before Alkazar,” Brendol’s monstrous draft horse, “eats it all.”

As the pastels of sunrise faded into clear day, Hux made his way along the Stono River until he reached the northeast point that looked toward Charleston. Here, Brendol Hux purchased sixty acres and cleared twenty for his home and horses. Arkanis Hall was not quite as large as a plantation house, it was far more reminiscent of the manors of the old country. There were no Greek revival columns, wide gables or sweeping balconies. It was a flat exterior of red brick with the most modest of molding around the windows and entry. A double stair way lined in iron lace led on up from the circle driveway. The only real detail was in the variety of creeping vines that looked as if they were overtaking the manor from the ground up.

Black smoke billowed upward from the chimney and the air was filled with the smell of frying animal fat. Since Rae Sloan, the sole housekeeper of Arkanis Hall, refused to cook, this meant that Brendol had awoken from his drunken slumber but had yet to notice his son was missing. Hux pulled in the reins on Allegretto and trotted her slowly around to the back of the house and down through the trees with halos of mist. There was a wooden shed meant for storing meats. Perfect place to strip the turkey.

Hux worked quickly though he had little knowledge of how to defeather the bird. He had caught a small goose or two out by the river’s edge, but the turkey was by far his largest score. Ideally, he would be able to get a nice pot of boiling water to help loosen the feathers for plucking. With Brendol in the kitchen though, he was stuck skinning the bird; not his strong suit.

In Allegretto’s saddle was a small folding blade his father once used for shaving. It was dull, and the ivory handle was a bit difficult to grip but it was what Hux had and he would make do. He had taught himself to ride and shoot, he would eventually learn to skin.

Armitage Hux had been born an Omega, a class just a scant half-step above a woman. As such, he was expected to use his hands to make music, to make art. To draw a thread with a needle to darn socks or prepare a meal and dress a table. All things that would keep his mate sated after his heat had passed.

“Damnation!” Hux cried as the knife slipped between the bird’s blades, causing a hot squirt of blood to hit his face and jacket. Steam came off the deep red wound of the still warm carcass.

There was a taste of metal in his mouth.

Brendol Hux said hunting was the most offensive thing an Omega could learn to do. It was crude, barbaric. Worst of all, it robbed the Alpha of the joy of protecting his mate.

Hux wiped the blood off with the back of his hand and threw his coat to the ground. He took the blade up again and began to work the second wing. It was frustrating to know he was butchering the fine catch he sat and waited all morning for.

“Armitage!” Brendol’s thick accent echoed through the trees. “Dammit boy, where are ya?” Brendol had immigrated from England twenty-one years ago, when Hux was still a pink faced babe in swaddling clothes. His accent was as strong as the day he arrived.

“Where do you think I am?” Hux muttered to himself. Raised alone with his father, Hux could not escape the accent of his homeland. Exposure to Charleston socialites though gave it a softer, more refined edge.

Allegretto whinnied and snorted and stomped her hooves. It did not take her long to develop a strong dislike of Brendol.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight.” Hux turned at the sound of his father’s voice. Brendol Hux was a beastly man. Years of drink had made his skin ruddy, his nose was a ripe gin blossom. A few strands of copper hair, the same as Hux’s, could be seen poking through the winter snow that had permanently settled in his unkept hair. If Hux looked hard enough, beneath his father’s twisted scowl and filthy beard, he could see a glimmer of himself. Brendol Hux haunted him like a dark omen, a warning of what happens to a man who waste his life.

“I don’t know what you’ve caught but you made a right mess of it! Aye, is that blood on your clothes?”

“It was a turkey that I tracked and killed with one shot.” Hux spoke in slow, firm words. Through miserable trial and error, he found this was the best way to avoid getting beaten. Even now at twenty-two-years-old, fully grown and able to handle a gun, Brendol was not above taking a switch or a fist to him.

“There is some sort of demon spirit in you,” Brendol rasped, squinting his dull, grey eyes, “no child should derive such pleasure from making their old man so miserable.”

“I find pleasure in hunting, it is not my fault that your unhappiness is a side-effect.”

“You find joy in my ruin and humiliation!” Hux shrank and Brendol’s sudden burst of rage. “That I must hang my head when I go to town, that I cannot look another man in the eye! A fortune I have spent on ya Armitage, _a fortune_! And still you spit in my face!”

Hux swallowed hard on the lump in his throat, his hands and knees shaking He dare not speak as he was uncertain how his voice would sound.

Outside, Allegretto angrily pulled on her reins.

“Any day now that nag is gonna throw ya and snap that skinny neck of yours.”

“Allegretto is a fine mare. I broke her in myself, she wouldn’t do that.”

Brendol laughed.

“Aye, the horse will do the deed; but it’s your ego that’s goin’ to get you killed. What does an Omega know of breaking a horse?”

“I might know if some one bothered to teach me!” Hux was shocked at his own boldness. Everything inside tensed in preparation for Brendol’s fist.

“A boy of your kind has no business ridin’ and huntin’, how many times do I have to tell ya?” _A boy of his kind_ , it made Hux want to scream. “Stars above, Armitage; how am I supposed to marry you off like this?”

Without a second thought, Hux said:

“You don’t.”

For a moment Brendol was quiet. In the distance doves cooed and the wind could be heard rustling the fresh new buds of spring. Hux became aware that his mouth was gaped and quickly pulled his jaw tight. The nails on his balled-up hands were digging little crescents into his skin.

“I should have left ya with your whorin’ mother,” Brendol finally said, “left you with her in the streets without your precious suppressants. You’d truly be a sight then, eh? A babe on each tit and a man between your legs-”

“You pig!” Armitage cried, “Don’t you ever speak to me like that!”

“I’ll speak to you however I wish, you spoiled little cur!” Brendol grabbed Hux’s arm and pulled him around. His hand went up to slap him but held mid-air.

Allegretto stilled.

Hux held his breath.

Brendol shook his head and threw his son down into the dirt.

“What I would not give to make you look like this,” he picked up a large chunk of the sliced turkey from the ground, “beat you till you were nothing but rotted, bloody flesh. Tis a fate better than you deserve. I will get you married, I don’t care if it’s the last bastard in Charleston, I will recoup what I have spent. Now,” he dropped the carcass and jerked Hux up to his feet. “Get to the house, have Sloan clean you up. There’s a ball at the Exchange tonight and you will go, and you will charm, and you will marry yourself out of my damn life or so help me I might stuff you in a crate and ship you back to London!”

Hux went out from the shed and undid Allegretto’s reins, but Brendol was quick to grab them.

“Did you not hear me? I said get to the house! I’ll take your bloody nag back to the stables.” Allegretto made a protesting whinny but Hux calmed her with a few words. Her eyelids, thick with curling lashes, drooped downward as Brendol pulled her back toward the stable.

And Hux was left alone in his long underwear and boots.

He felt a great sense of relief at the sight of Rae Sloan at the top of the front stairs. She was a serious looking woman with eyes like soft earthen clay. A shock of white hair ripped through the black curls she kept neatly pinned back behind her head. Never did a smile wrinkle her clear, dark skin.

“Everything all right, Armitage?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Hux wanted badly to hug her as Sloan was the dearest person in his life. Covered now in mud and blood, such an act would ruin her lovely apron. In the seven years Hux had known Rae Sloan, never had he seen a spot on her white linen apron nor a loose thread in the Battenberg lace which lined the hem. The immaculate apron was always worn over the plainest calico shirts and wool skirts. Sloan was utilitarian and elegant all at once.

She had been brought up from Atlanta when Hux turned fifteen, the age when he would begin receiving suitors from Charleston. Brendol had little knowledge of courting styles for Alphas and Omegas, especially in America, and put out a price for a chaperone that no family could refuse. Sloan had been the charge of the four children of a textile tycoon and seemed pleasantly shocked to find Armitage would be her only concern. She had been privy to the price Brendol had paid for her and, in time, shared with Armitage she believed she was being sent to care for double the children she was in Atlanta.

“Scared me to death,” she told him, “I have enough white hair as it is!”

The inside of Arkanis hall was just as bland as its exterior. Brendol had bought all the furniture at auction; nothing matched and there were multiples of unnecessary items. Some of the artwork had torn canvases or broken frames. The only room Brendol spent any money or effort on was the receiving room, the supposed place where his son would meet his future mate.

The high expectations were clear. The walls had been covered in an intricate damask; robins egg blue over a vibrant eau-de-nil, a color combination popular in Paris. Velvet curtains with braided fringe covered the windows. Round-back armchairs with tufted seats and clawed feet sat in preparation for lively conversation around a burl wood coffee table. The room was a jewel on an otherwise tarnished crown.

Now, it sat dark and empty.

Hux had elegantly evaded every vying bachelor in Charleston. He was aware that he had earned himself a nickname among the men he scorned; the rose of Johns Island. Beautiful and inaccessible. Hux would scoff whenever the nickname was mentioned but inside the idea filled him with a warm glow.

Hux made his way up the staircase and down to his private suite on the north side of the manor. Tall windows gave him a stunning view of the Ashley River, which would sparkle like a thousand diamonds and sunrise and sundown.

“So, was it worth it?” Sloan’s petticoat rustled as she entered his room.

“I got the turkey, if that’s what you mean.”

“I heard just a single shot,” she gave him a quick raise of her eyebrow, “well done Armitage; you should be very proud. Did you manage to get it cleaned?”

“Maybe next time,” Hux offered a weak smile.

“Chin up, Armitage,” Sloan smiled as she crossed the room to join him, “don’t let this world break you. If there’s anything I have learned in my life it’s that, good or bad, nothing is static. The winds of change are always blowing.”

“There is no wind here on Johns Island.”

“Tut!” Sloan snapped. “Now you are being willfully obtuse! I taught you better than that.”

“When you speak of wind you speak of war,” Hux sighed, the single word that had been on everyone’s lips and printed across every newspaper page. The tentative beginnings were playing out in the Charleston harbor at Fort Sumpter. “It seems so close and yet so far…”

“Nothing remains the same in the wake of war, I know you are well read enough to understand that. Victories are not as sweet, and losses are the most bitter poison. All of our lives will be rattled if cannons are fired on that island.”

“I hope so,” Hux said softly, catching Sloan’s eyes. It pained him to know that Sloan had been purchased, not hired to come to Arkanis Hall. She was a passenger in her own life, robbed of any autonomy. To step out of line was an unforgivable sin. Hux had accidentally caught her one summer morning bathing near the creek behind the shed. Atonement in the form of scars twisted up her back, like the gnarled roots of a tree.

Sloan’s attention slipped, and her gaze became fixed on something in the distance. Something more substantial than the river. Hux followed the invisible line that led out into the forest. His eyes, now keenly trained to detect movement, saw quick shadows beneath the buttonwood trees that marked the edge of the driveway.

“What is that?” Hux muttered, “Would deer come this close to the house?”

“Hurry!” Sloan cried, grabbing Hux and pulling him to the bathroom. “The water is certainly hot enough now!”

Sloan carried the iron cauldron from the fireplace to the tub. Hux watched the steam rise upward, same as that from the turkey’s carcass. He watched as she lovingly poured marjoram oil into the water and sprinkle Epsom salt over the top.

“We’ll have you fresh and ready for the ball in no time,” she said absently. “I have clean towels on the warmer,” she pointed to the thick terry cotton towels on a rack beside the pot belly stove. “I’ll put together an outfit while you wash up.”

“Thank you, Sloan.”

As Rae Sloan walked passed, she reached up and placed a hand on Hux’s cheek. For a moment she lingered, eyes hooded as she looked him over. Hux just want to disappear into the touch. He hated that he had fallen into the axiom that little rich children always come to love their black charge more than their own mother. Hux felt he ought to be forgiven, as Rae Sloan truly was the closest thing he had ever known to a mother. It was her ear he filled with crying fears of being married off to some cruel Alpha. It was to he arms he ran when Brendol, drunk and reckless, took out his frustrations of the world on Hux’s face. He found peace in the scent of the chamomile oil she dabbed on her neck and wrist.

Hux stretched out his arms and rolled his shoulders, letting the hot water relax the muscles that had become tight from the morning hunt. He then toweled himself off and dressed in his robe.

Truth be told, Hux would have hated any outfit Sloan had pulled for him. He did not blame her. The expected attire for an Omega stood in sharp contrast from his personal aesthetics. Without even looking at what she laid out, Hux went right to his closet and pulled his heavy winter coat.

“I think it might still be cool enough for this,” he held it up for Sloan’s approval. All he got was crossed arms and a sigh.

“It’s black,” Sloan told him, “your father would not approve.” It was the only black item of clothing Hux owned as winter was the only time deemed proper for an unmarried Omega to wear dark colors. It was not friendly, would make him seem less approachable.

Hux patiently waited as Sloan put together the rest of his outfit; beige wool pants and a nice cream top. The process was utterly degrading; Hux felt like a child that needed to be dressed and fed and sent to his room when he misbehaved.

The design was unique only to Omegas; double breasted coats neatly tailored and fitted around the waist. The tailcoats were what Hux took issue with; they were long, some so much they could sweep the floor. His friend Thomas Thanisson was well known in Charleston for his dragging tailcoats.

The gloves were the most inexplicable part of his costume. Unmarried (and, ostensibly, unmated) Omegas were expected to wear white gloves. Once given an engagement ring, they were free to have their hands bare.

Hux was one of the last Omegas in the county to still be wearing gloves.

Sloan settled on a nice sage coat with brass buttons and coattails that only went to Hux’s knees.

“It is a lovely color for spring,” she assured his scowl.

The ride to Charleston was long and quiet. Brendol talked some about the latest news on the secession and the tug-of-war at Fort Sumter. Hux finally was able to read the first part of the new Dicken’s serial _Great Expectations_ , which had not formally been published abroad.

“Yankees are trying to send sloop ships with troops and supplies to bolster the fort. Seems the more Beauregard pushes for an evacuation, the more stubborn those Yankees become.”

Hux knew his father was just talking to himself but still he could not help a smart response.

“It is a United States fort,” he said, not looking up from his reading, “we are no longer united with those states.”

“No one wants to hear an Omegas opinion on war,” Brendol growled, “especially tonight. This evening’s festivities are meant to celebrate the newest enlistees into the Confederate Army. So-”

“So, there will be plenty of desperate men who will be wanting perfume scented letters from their little wives?”

“Behave,” the simple word conveyed Brendol’s annoyance.

Hux went along in his reading.

_“When we played at cards Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella’s moods, whatever they were. And sometimes, when her moods were so many and so contradictory of one another that I was puzzled what to say or do, Miss Havisham would embrace her with lavish fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like “Break their hearts my pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy!”_

“ _Break their hearts, my pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy_.” Hux whispered the words to himself. Cruelty and aloofness were his only tools, his only weapons.

Break their hearts, have no mercy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ren's look is definitely inspired by 'The Man Who Killed Don Quixote'. I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, you're free to imagine whatever you like but...for those who are curious. 
> 
> Also, I LOVE you all for the comments and the kudos. It's nice to see some familiar faces in the comment section :)

The waters surrounding Charleston were alive with activity. Cutter ships, their sails swollen with the cool evening winds, darted about the harbor like agitated hornets. Tall ships sat motionless near the fort, simply bobbing along with the currents rushing in from the Atlantic.

Hux looked up from his reading to give the distant Fort Sumter a small regard of pity. He truly did feel for the Union soldiers trapped inside, stewing in the knowledge that they were primed to be the sacrifice that would ignite the war. To him, the air was as taught as the string of a violin. Draw the bow too far one way or another and it was sure to snap.

The Charlestonites though, in all their elitist fashion, expressed little concern. The city had become alive with festivity; balls and galas were numerous. No one spoke a word of trepidation. No hands clenched in nervousness or eyes teary for sons that might be lost. If anything, the young men in Charleston tempted fate with loud declarations of their desire for an explosive break from the Union.

Lamplighters were making their rounds as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. It was almost dark when Brendol and his son arrived at the Exchange. Palmettos swayed gently in the same breeze that pushed the buzzing cutter ships about. Out front, Hux could see some dirty-faced laborers taking down the last rough hewn planks of a stage that had been set up in front of the Exchange. Such a structure only had one purpose; the Exchange had played host to a slave auction earlier that day.

Satin and lace and chiffon dresses floated by. Lamplight danced in the gemstones that sat upon ladies’ necklines. The same glow gave a soft sheen to the men’s brushed wool coats. All the couples entered arm in arm as they shared in laughter. Not an eye batted at the remnants of the auction.

Hux followed his father up the front steps and into the vestibule. Music flowed outward and drew guest in. The Exchange had not been designed to accommodate so many guests and as such everyone shuffled uncomfortably through the interior archways into the main ballroom. Inwardly Hux cursed his gloves as his hands were already hot and sweaty and itchy.

The dancefloors of the Exchange Building had known no rest since succession was made official in December. The stately building that Hux once regarded with awe and wonder was now the bane of his existence.

A rich baritone voice rose above the cacophony of the crowd.

“Brendol!”

Hux felt his skin prickle at the touch of a thousand cold needles.

“Edrison!” Brendol cried, “Edrison Peavey, you ol’ bastard! I thought you were still down in Jacksonville?”

“And miss all the excitement?” A middle-aged man pushed his way to Brendol’s side. “I want to be able to tell my grandchildren I was here when General Beauregard laid siege to that damnable Union eyesore in our harbor.” The years had been kinder to Edrison Peavey than they had Brendol Hux. Despite being the same age, Peavey’s strawberry blonde hair was only accented by the slimmest silver hairs. The creases in his face did not run as deep and were only noticeable when the man smiled. Peavey was distinguished, like a well-aged wine.

“I for one hope they blow the bastards out of the water!” Brendol roared.

As he laughed, Peavey’s blue eyes shifted and fell to Hux.

“And young Armitage Hux,” he said with a curt bow, “would a young beauty like yourself forgive the foul tongues of two old men?”

Hux could feel his heart beat out of sync. He hated the way Peavey purred his name, like a fat cat about to be fed.

When he did not answer, Peavey’s lips spread in to a condescending smile.

 “How you have grown since last I saw you,” he continued, “it truly is amazing what four summers can do.”

Four summers ago, Hux was eighteen.

Peavey was still old and smelled of cigars.

It was at a party, Peavey’s estate in Hilton Head.

That summer, Hux had developed a love for constellations and all the ancient myths attached to them.

Peavey convinced the naïve young Hux to follow him to the study to show him the new telescope he had just purchased…

“Less freckles, thank the stars,” Brendol groaned, “he was starting to look like a spoiled pear!”

“No,” Peavey smiled, “he has grown into a handsome young gentleman. You should be proud, Brendol.”

He winked at Hux. Just like he had that night.

“ _It’s a clear night_ ,” Peavey had told him, “ _and this party is terribly boring, don’t you think? Come now, let’s have a little fun_.”

And he winked.

It was not proper for an Omega to be alone with an Alpha, mated or otherwise. Hux of course was happy to buck tradition and saw no harm in going to Peavy’s study. The man had been his father’s friend for years, old Uncle Peavey always had chocolates for him when he came to visit and even brought Hux a music box from London for his thirteenth birthday.

“ _Stand here_ ,” Peavey guided Hux to the telescope, “ _take a look in the eyepiece…_ ”

Hux tried not to focus on Peavey’s hands. They were, after all, just trying to guide him. Help him. He was so close though.

And then those hands were on his thighs and reaching around and gently squeezing Hux’s crotch.

It was hard to put the timeline together in his mind. Hux remembered Peavey touching him, rubbing him though his pants. He remembered being embarrassed of his erection and feeling Peavey’s growing as he ground his hips into Hux’s.

He remembered gripping the windowsill near the telescope in an attempt to keep his balance.

Hux opened his mouth to protest but only a soft moan came out.

He felt Peavey run his nose along his neck, biting at his ear. His breath was hot and gross and smelled like cured meats and liquor.

“ _I imagine you are lovely in heat_ ,” Peavey growled, “ _I bet you even smell like a blooming rose.._.”

“Will you join us for a drink?” That same voice asked.

Hux’s eyes began to dart around the room. His panic sharply ebbed at the sight of a dark-haired man with a pinched up little mouth look bored in the corner.

“I’m sure you and my father have much to catch up on,” it felt good to find his voice again, “besides, I have just spotted my dear friend Mitaka, so,”

“Go on then!” Brendol practically shoved him, “Mingle with your little friends and find some nice gentlemen to talk to, eh?” As he walked off, Hux could already hear his father moan, “Impossible boy, Edrison! Just impossible! I’m going to have a spinster for a son!”

Hux rudely pushed through the crowd, desperate to get away.

“Brendol manage to drag you out again?” Mitaka asked.

“Kicking and screaming,” Hux sighed, “thank goodness you’re here.”

“I feel like you say that to me every time we meet.”

 “Forget every other time; I mean it now. You’re the only person I can trust.” Hux brushed a gloved hand over Mitaka’s, “we’re part of the last remaining sane Omegas in this town.”

The unclaimed Mitaka certainly had a reputation for hard headedness. He did not like flowers or poems, in fact he would only entertain gentlemen who brought him practical gifts. His longest courtship had been inspired by a shaving set and some cedar chips to keep in his closet, so his clothes might stay fresh.

“Perhaps the last two,” Mitaka’s eyes, dark and slick as ink, flittered over to a group Hux recognized as married Omegas clustered between two Greek columns along the back wall.

“What are they all clucking about?” Hux asked with a sneer. He did not truly care, but a little gossip would take his mind off Peavey, even if just for a moment.

“You didn’t hear?” Mitaka asked, genuinely surprised. “Thanisson’s engaged.”

“Engaged? To whom?” As soon as he spoke, Hux’s memory was triggered, “Sol Rivas? They have only been courting for a week.”

 “Apparently Rivas went and in enlisted with the new army. Most of the men have,” Mitaka smiled, “it has put them in a very engaging sort of mood.”

Hux looked at the group again. Sure enough, young Thomas Thanisson was in their center, his ungloved left hand being pulled in every direction. The married Omegas were chattering nonstop as they took their turn to gasp and coo over their newly initiated. Hux stared in disbelief as the timid little Thanisson was all smiles in the sea of attention.

“He told me he’s moving into The Benedict,” Sol Rivas’s hotel on Church Street, “he’s not even going to wait for the wedding.”

 “Stars,” Hux sighed, “and poor Thanisson never looked good in black.”

Mitaka’s face scrunched up as he tried to understand his friend’s strange statement.

“Beg pardon?”

“Sol Rivas is the dandy proprietor of a hotel, he cannot shoot worth a damn. If we ever go to war, well,” Hux shook his head, “poor Thanisson.”

Mitaka pushed an annoyed sigh through his nostrils.

“Not tonight Armitage, I beg you.”

“Not tonight?”

Mitaka looked to his friend, world weary.

“I am so tired of defending you to everyone.”

 “What is that supposed to mean?” Hux snapped back with haughty indignation.

“No, I,” Mitaka shook his head, “I’m sorry, I should not have said anything.”

“Well, you did. What, do those empty-headed little fools not like my company? Do they find me impolite? Ill-mannered?

“Cold,” Mitaka said flatly, “like stone. You’re not pleasant to be around.”

“Neither are they,” Hux narrowed his eyes on the group.

“You know I’m sympathetic,” Mitaka said quietly, “I find most Omegas here in Charleston to be, well, I think empty-headed fools summed it up quite well. But, just for tonight, can we try to be civil? For Thanisson’s sake? You know how hard it’s been for him since his parent’s passing. The engagement is a true blessing for him.”  

“Indeed,” Hux resigned, “all right, for tonight, I promise I shall behave. For Thanisson’s sake.”

“Armitage!” Thanisson’s excited cry drew both Hux and Mitaka’s attention. Hux felt his stomach sink at the sight of his friend; starry-eyed and rosy cheeked, surrounded by a veritable snake nest of scowling Omegas who were all but disgusted with Hux’s constant refusals of marriage.

Hux felt an elbow nudge into his side.

“Go on,” Mitaka laughed, “go behave.”

Hux squared his shoulders and headed for the group. Cold eyes fixed themselves upon him, the tight group only moved just enough to let Hux meet his friend.

“Armitage,” Thanisson beamed, oblivious to the drama, “did you hear?”

“Mitaka told me,” Hux held out an open palm, “may I?” Thanisson happily presented his left hand to be observed. The diamond itself was exquisite; a hefty two karate square cut set in yellow gold. What impressed Hux more was the small sapphires placed on either side. Sol Rivas had thoughtfully designed the piece with his beloved’s birthstone.

“It’s beautiful,” Hux smiled, “congratulation Thanisson.”

“Thank you,” Thanisson blushed. It was no secret that Thanisson admired the brooding red head from Johns Island. In primary school, Thomas Thanisson was Hux’s silent shadow. The unpleasant characteristics Hux possessed; his sharp tongue, stubbornness and unbreakable spirit made him the perfect shield for the mousey boy. Always did he want a place at Armitage Hux’s side, even more so now with his parent’s untimely deaths from fever.

“How did he ask?” Hux inquired, still turning over Thanisson’s hand in his to observe the ring.

“Come,” Thanisson excitedly pulled it back, “let’s get some drinks and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Hux, Mitaka and Thanisson found a waiter with a tray of champagne and helped themselves each to a glass before making themselves comfortable on some open chairs near the fireplace. There, Thanisson recounted the tale of how Sol Rivas invited him down to White Point Garden to have ice cream and walk along the Ashley River.

“I barely remember him asking,” Thanisson laughed, the light of the fire dancing in his eyes. “Rivas was just down on his knee and I saw the diamond and I said yes!” He sighed, “He wants to get married right away, before he’s sent off. You two will help me plan a wedding, right? At least help me find something to wear. I simply won’t have time to have anything made special.”

“Why can’t he wait?” Hux asked, “all these brutes brag about how they’ll having these Yankees running scared by snowfall.”

“He wants to start a family too,” Thanisson continued in a softer voice, “you should hear him talk about marching back home to a wife and a new baby. Could you imagine anything more beautiful?”

Mitaka’s eyes warned Hux not to answer that.

“Of course, we’ll help you,” Hux said with cheery compliance.

“Yes, anything you need, we’ll be there for you,” Mitaka added.

The conductor of the septet drew his baton through the air, signaling for the group to still their instrument before he succinctly tapped it on his music stand. Conversation around the Exchange wound down to silence.

Hux had heard it all before; the welcoming speech and the call for applause for their new president, Jefferson Davis and brave General Beauregard who was going to wipe those Yankees clean from their harbor. Everyone applauded, Hux heard his father somewhere let out a drunken cry.

“We are here to show our appreciation to the brave men in service to the Confederacy, who are willing to lay down their lives in the face of tyranny. One such gentleman I would like to mention, fresh from the western territories where he fought the wild savages that threatened our right to this great land, now Captain of Charleston’s own 29th Infantry; Poe Dameron!”

Hux’s champagne went right up his nose.

“Stars, Poe Dameron is back?” Thanisson gasped, “And he’s in infantry Captain?”

 “I cannot believe you denied him,” Mitaka smirked and the ruffled Hux. “Easily the best looking of your suitors.”

“I didn’t just deny him,” Hux coughed, catching his breath, “I denied him three times!”

A foreign blood pumped through Poe’s veins; Spanish or Caribbean or the Central American, Hux could never remember which. Whatever it was, it gave Poe a sort of swarthy appearance that made him stand out among the lily-white skin and sea glass eyes of the potential suitors that made their way to Arkanis Hall.

The years away had done Poe Dameron good. When last Hux saw him, he was clean-shaven and baby faced. His hair had been plastered to his head with a full tin of pomade and never would he look Hux right in the eye. Now, he stood proudly for the applause that thundered for him. His full lips in a smug smile, the dark eyes Hux never got to see were now wide and wild, with hints of honey and forest green. Poe’s hair was a force of its own. Thick, glossy locks curled upward, like the waves rising from a dark and stormy horizon. A shadow of scruff circled his mouth and traveled down his neck.

He was not dressed as a Confederate Captain, rather, more in costume for his previous life in the western territories. The rumor had been that Armitage Hux was the catalyst for Poe Dameron’s sudden departure to the west. That his heart was so broken he could not bear to live in Charleston, nay, civilized society! If it were not true, he had at least dressed the part, Hux thought, as Poe appeared to them in a drab colored wool shirt with fringed hems. Around his shoulder was a leather satchel decorated with animal claws and fathers.

“Do save your applause,” the conductor continued, “as this evening we are also joined by several volunteer regiments; Company C, the Irish Volunteers of Richmond County, Georgia. The Holmes Company of Scouts, here from Holmes County, Mississippi. And the Zouave Tigers of New Orleans, Louisiana.”

Where the previous two companies have received boisterous cheers, the New Orleans Zouaves were met with gasp and scattered applause. Hux craned his neck through the crowd to catch a glimpse at the questionable troop.

“They look as though they’ve lost their way to a costume party,” Mitaka whispered.

“I didn’t think they were coming,” Thanisson added in the same hushed tone, “Rivas told me about them, apparently they arrived at The Benedict last night, well after the staff had gone to bed. They’re paid up for the rest of the month.”

“They must have a little money if they’re staying in town.” Hux added, “Where are they; I can’t see them.”

“Back towards the vestibule,” Mitaka nodded in their direction.

Once he found them, Hux could not believe he had struggled so. The group was six strong, five of them with red sashes wrapped around the lower half of their faces. These mysterious men wore baggy pants, somewhat similar to bloomers, that caught around the ankle. They all sported navy-blue short jackets with intricate red embroidery. Some of them wore proper Confederate army caps, others wore fezes. Each had a unique set of medals and badges that meant absolutely nothing to Hux.

“See that tall one there, the one with the scar?” Said Thanisson. “That’s Renault Solo, their Captain. They call him _Mon Pere_. Rivas said he paid for everything in gold coins. A friend told him that Renault is the son of a pirate from New Orleans.”

Hux’s first impression of the man was that he was pouting, like a young boy who had been denied a sip of supper wine, thinking he was old enough for such things. The scar certainly gave him an element of danger, which was refreshing. His black hair laid in tussled black waves around his face, it’s unkempt nature a strange contrast to the tidy pencil mustache above his pillowy lips.

His uniform was similar to his company’s, though he wore proper fitted pants as opposed to the harem trousers. Over his right shoulder was a floor length cape pinned in place with an iron wrought broach that looked somewhat like a wolf’s head.

“A pirate from New Orleans,” Mitaka breathed, “is that the sort of company we’re keeping now?”

“I hope so,” said Hux, “these gentlemen do not know how to defend us. The only shooting they do is in their ridiculous gentleman’s duels with its gentlemanly rules.” A small smile curled Hux’s lips, “Pirate’s are not afraid to shoot a man in the back.”

Mitaka shook his head.

“I worry about you sometimes, Armitage Hux.”

Once the announcements were made, the conductor called all the couples to the dance floor to begin in the group dancing. Thanisson leapt to his feet to meet with Sol Rivas, who was already waving for another couple to join their quadrille.

Such activities were not for unmated Omegas so Hux and Mitaka waited beside the fireplace. As he watched them dance, a strange frustration began to burn hot inside Hux’s chest. He had felt so secure in his little trio, with the fussy Mitaka and the small and shy Thanisson. There was a selfish belief that neither of them would find a mate. But there was Rivas; spinning Thanisson around their quadrille, taking him into his arms, whispering into Thanisson’s ear and making him laugh. More hurtful was the knowledge that Rivas was a good mate. Handsome with blue eyes, an apt businessman who ran The Benedict Hotel.

“He’s going to make a wonderful mother,” Mitaka said after drinking down the rest of his champagne.

“Yes,” Hux said absently, “he’s going to have a very happy life.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ren sipped at his brandy, the taste far too sweet for his liking. It produced the intended effect though, making him feel warm and disconnected, so he could complain very little.

He found himself transfixed with the dancers and their incredibly innate knowledge of the dances; when to bow, when to turn, when to duck under another’s arm. More interesting to him was the joy they seemed to derive from the mindless twirling.

When his interest waned, Ren allowed his eyes to wander around the Exchange. By the fireplace he spotted a listless young man, red hair neatly combed back and a vacant look in his cool blue-green eyes. His flaccid lips sat without expression, just soft and pink and glistening slightly in the firelight.

Ren wondered what man looked like when he smiled.

“So, Renault, how are you enjoying the festivities?” Poe Dameron had a bit of an issue with volume control. Too often he slinked up to Ren’s side, face close to his ear and spoke as if they were an entire room apart.

“Thank you for inviting me and my men,” Ren answered with a low, steady cadence, trying to lead by example, “and please, just call me Ren.”

“Didn’t quite answer my question, but you’re welcome, Ren.”

Thus far, Poe Dameron was the only genuine person Ren had encountered in Charleston. Years of life in the wild western territories had whittled down the fine veneer city life had painted on him. He was without any sort of self-awareness and as such felt it was his place to comment on every little thing.

“I would let your eyes rest elsewhere if I were you.”

At this Ren turned to him, a pitying sort of look could be seen in the handsome captain’s eyes.

“And where are they resting?”

 “Armitage Hux,” Poe spoke the name like some spoke of the Union army; like a force of evil that only the bravest of men could dare to challenge. “I certainly understand your interest. Here in Charleston he is known as the rose of Johns Island,” Poe held up a waning finger, “look but do not touch.”

“Sharp thorns?”

“I should say so,” Poe laughed, “not enough to keep me away. Armitage took a fair amount of my blood before I realized he was not to be mine.”  

Ren looked back to the young man who appeared he was ready to surrender to sleep. Certainly, he did not look a threat, but was that not the game roses played?

 

* * *

 

 

Hux watched a log collapse sending little swirling sparks up the flue. The flame felt good on his skin and the champagne was making him drowsy. His early morning hunt was taking its toll.

As he slipped under his lids, his mind went back to that awful night in Hilton Head.

Peavey had managed to bring Hux to climax and then left sitting with soiled undergarments in a chair in the corner. Hux watched as Peavey shrugged on his coat, calmly buttoning up the front as if he were ready to go out for a stroll.

“ _Clean yourself up_ ,” he has said in a strangely sweet voice, like talking to a child.

And that was it. He was gone.

Hux could only recall a deep, sinking void inside him. He sat there, sat there and sat there for what felt like a hundred years.

No one came for him. No one cared. No one was even worried that he was gone.

“Armitage!” Hux woke to Thanisson grabbing his hands, “The band agreed to play The Grand March! Everyone is going to join in, you must as well!”

“The Grand March is so silly,” Hux scoffed. “All you do is walk in a line, pair off, walk in a line, pair off again and then it ends.”

“Exactly,” said Thanisson, tugging now on his friend, “I know you don’t like to dance, The Grand March isn’t even a dance!”

“Fine,” Hux let himself be pulled to his feet, “I’ll do it.”

“Good, you’ll need the practice for my wedding!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, well,” Ren cooed, reaching up to undo his cape, “looks like the rose is opening it’s petals.”

The pin, which Poe had believed was just an iron forged wolf’s head, in fact had a ruby fixed in the beast mouth. The gem was as big as a grape and reflected back all shades of crimson and blush.

Poe felt breathless at the sight.

“A present from my father,” Kylo said, not looking even looking at the other man’s gaped mouth as he shrugged off the cape. “He brought it back for me after an extended trip to the Orient.”

“That is some rock,” Poe finally managed.

“Thank you,” Ren turned to the masked group beside him. “Cerise,” he held out his cape. The smallest of his soldiers stepped forward and took the cape and folded it with great care. With a raised eyebrow Poe gave the soldier a quick look over, now noticing the slight frame of a woman beneath the baggy clothes.

“Wait,” Poe made a hesitant chuckle, his eyes darting between Ren and Hux, “are you actually going to join in?”  

 “I am simply letting fate decide if I get pricked or not,” a small smile tugged at the corner of Ren’s lips. “Wish me luck.”

 “Good luck,” Poe called after him. Then, more quietly into his drink, “you’re gonna need it.”


	3. Chapter 3

The fiddler began to play a jaunty little song, hardly a match of the slow, methodical style of the dance. All the participants took each other’s hands and began to file into the dance floor.

Hux could feel his mind going blank as he was dragged around the circle. Onlookers clapped in time with the repetitive tune which pushed Hux further and further into his malaise. With the last little bit of consciousness, he wondered about what sort of life was left for him.

Hux did not want to be a spinster like his father claimed he would become. Spinsters, women and Omegas who had managed to reach old age without marriage, were a miserable lot that roved around the town in shabby clothes and talked to themselves.

He could not remain unmated, as then he could not legally retain Arkanis Hall and the surrounding land upon his father’s death.

Across the room he could see Poe Dameron nursing a dark drink. Even if by some strange twist of fate Hux could join the military it would be under Poe’s command. And how would that end up? Like the night in Hilton Head. Poe would just use the situation to his advantage, Hux was certain of it. Take out his aggression for all those times Hux refused the man’s advances.

A cold prickling began to make its way up Hux’s spine. The same kind that would cause a quiver in his hand when trying to sneak a sip from one of Brendol’s decanters of fine whiskey. A sense of being watched, a sense that he was an object of obsession.

Hux glanced around the room but did not see his father. Beside him in the chain, Mitaka and Thanisson made mindless chatter, unaware of their friend’s distress.

 The circle was growing tighter and Hux was finding it harder to breathe. He shrugged his shoulders as dancers pushed on his back and craned his neck upward with all the desperation of a drowning man looking for shore.

Across the room, through the passing faces he saw him; Renault Solo, the pirate’s son from New Orleans.

And he was getting closer.

Their eyes locked yet neither allowed their expressions to betray their intent. Hux could not explain his desire to hold Renault’s gaze. His _modus operandi_ had always been to roll his eyes and feign disinterest when caught in another man’s stare. Renault had spurred something primal, unlocked the same adrenaline flow that electrified Hux when closing in on a kill. He could almost feel the cold hammer of his rifle under his gloved thumb as they chased each other through the crowd.

The fiddler changed the tune, drawing his bow soft and sweet across the strings. This signaled the dancers to form the last lines that would meet and walk off the floor hand-in-hand. When the lines began to reform, Hux lost his connection with Renault. Hot frustration boiled over as he felt somehow this meant he had forfeited their game.

“Move, Armitage,” Mitaka rasped behind him, “you’re holding everyone up.”

Hux huffed angrily and led his friends to the final line.

The last two groups assembled on either side of the room and began to pair off. Thanisson made a crestfallen sigh as he and Rivas did not match up and his fiancé walked with a young woman from a plantation near Mount Pleasant.

Hux shifted impatiently from one foot to the other, so infuriated by his perceived loss he simply wanted to whole silly dance to be over with.

The woman in front of Hux laughed and took the hand of the young girl before her and they walked down the dance floor, swinging their arms.

Hux stepped up to greet his partner.

A hand clad in black leather presented itself.

Being so close now, Hux could see how fresh the scar on Renault’s face was. The color was still a potent pink and had yet to lie flush with his skin. There were also several dark moles that dotted his face and his mustache was not as well kept at Hux once believed. Still, he was not without some charm. Renault possessed a striking Roman nose, like nothing Hux had ever seen. His eyes were dark mahogany, rich with cherry and chocolate notes that sang in the firelight. Framing them were long, dark lashes that curled elegantly upward.

On his person Hux could smell the red berry brandy all the Charleston men favored as well as a heady musk that made him think of autumn burn piles and all spice.

Hux drew a deep breath…and took the hand.

The dancefloor which had once felt so tight and so small was now a thousand miles long. Hux wanted to pretend like no one was watching, like no one possessed the smallest modicum of care that they, like everyone else, were walking the floor hand-in-hand. All around though, whispers swirled like the white seed heads of dandelions in spring. Hux put all his focus into maintaining his aloof façade and kept his eyes forward as they moved in tandem to the far end of the dancefloor.

It was hard to ignore how perfectly Renault’s hand fit in his though. For all the talk of his delicate features, Hux knew he possessed awkwardly large feet and hands that he never quite grew in to. The few times he was forced to be hand-in-hand, the shock and displeasure the other person felt was quite palpable. Hux possessed hands meant for riding, meant for holding a gun and skinning a kill. Not for needlework or calligraphy or other pointless Omega task.

They were hands that sought an equal strength.

At the end of the walk, Hux and Renault were meant to break, bow and turn their separate ways. In retrospect, Hux realized how foolish he was to assume the mysterious man would adhere to the unwritten rules of a dance. In parting Hux felt a sudden chill run up his right side and before he had a chance to realize his glove had been stolen, the Zouave had disappeared.

This fact took some time to settle in Hux’s mind. He filed back into his group and stood slack-jawed as they all clapped for the fiddler. Vulnerability settled in his stomach and churned up a sea of distress.  There was a sense of being naked, being suddenly exposed though he had only lost the tiniest article on his person.

 “Are you all right?” Mitaka asked, coming up from behind and shaking Hux’s back, “You look like you’re going to be ill.”

“That cheeky bastard…,” Hux said through gritted teeth, anger now pushing aside fear, “that bloody pirate stole my glove!”

“What?”

Hux turned to dash after Renault, but Mitaka was quick to grab him by the arm.

“Are you mad?” He pulled his friend close. “What has gotten in to you?”

Hux could not believe Mitaka did not see the dark implication of the act. As much as he hated the gloves, Hux was well aware of what they symbolized; that he was unmated, untouched. To callously snatch it from his hand as if propelled by the rules of some schoolyard game was beyond contemptable.  

“Armitage, what’s the matter?” Thanisson came quickly over.

“Something about his glove,” said Mitaka, “I think that Solo character took it!”

“Oh no…”

“Listen,” Mitaka angled his head to get Hux’s attention, “this is not worth causing a scene; my father always said people from New Orleans were terribly uncouth.”

“But he’s not in New Orleans!” A few party goers turned at Hux’s eruption, “He can’t just come here and,” Hux could not even finish his thought. He jerked away from Mitaka grip and pushed through the crowd.

“Armitage, don’t!”

“I’m getting Rivas!”

Hux made a straight line to where he had seen Renault’s men. Patrons moved aside as he stormed past, gasp and cries and scolding words in his wake.

“That vile Hux boy, he has such a temper!”

“Where did he learn his manners?”

“No wonder he’s not married…”

He came upon Renault and the newly appointed Captain Poe Dameron chatting idly over drinks.

Poe was the first to seem him.

“Armitage! You are a sight for sore eyes. The natural beauty of the western territories could never-” But Hux walked right past him, right up to Renault and stood so close that their noses nearly touching.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you have no right to take anything from my person, especially my glove. I demand you give it back _immediately_.”

To his surprise and delight, there was a slight hesitation in Renault’s eyes. He clearly had not anticipated this reaction.

“I am afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” a small hitch in his voice indicated a wavering confidence. Renault’s lips rested slightly gaped.

“What would you have me believe?” Asked Hux, holding up his ungloved hand, “That is simply floated off into the night?”

“Come now,” Poe whispered, “you probably just dropped it.”

 “This does not involve you, Poe!” Poe’s eyes went wide in shock. Though once he realized he was part of the spectacle that had caught every eye in the Exchange, he quickly drew himself up.

“It does involve me because this man is a volunteer Captain!” He declared with theatrical gestures, not wanting to appear an impotent Captain.

“This man is a liar and a thief!” Still, Hux would not unhook his eyes from Renault’s. “Where is my damn glove?”

“Perhaps you’ve had a bit too much champagne,” Renault’s voice same honey-sweet and thick, that same patronizing tone Edirson Peavey would use.  “Where is your father, dear; it might be time for him to take you home.”

Hux’s vision became a black corridor. Internally he felt something…heard something make clean snap.

“How dare you,” he hissed, “ _how dare you_!”

All his energy pooled to his knees and Hux sprung forward, hands aimed at the Zouave’s neck.

Strong arms grabbed him around the waist.

“What has gotten in to you?” Poe cried. But it was not Poe who had him.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” the voice was soothing, but did not condescend. It did not make him feel stupid or less than. Seeing Thanisson beside him now, Hux realized it was Sol Rivas who had gotten ahold of him.

The black corridor fell away and Hux could see the whole ballroom once more. The music had stopped, gasp and chatter filled the void it had left. Hux found himself in a veritable sea of eyes as all the Exchange was focused on him.

The married Omegas that had clustered around Thanisson were biting their lips and covering their mouths, doing anything they could to keep themselves from bursting with laughter.

Poe shook his head and asked in a heart-broken sigh, “When did you turn into a wild animal?”

Though Hux could not see him, he knew Edrison Peavey was there in the crowd, watching. Smirking. Taking in a drink as Bendol Hux whispered all the disgust he felt for his son into his ear.

“It’s been a long night,” Rivas said to him, “might be best to call your carriage.”

“Yes,” Hux shrugged himself away and adjusted his clothes, “that might be best…

There was no moon that night. The passing land outside the carriage was all dark shadows and mystery. Though just sitting across from him in the carriage, Hux could only see the faintest outline of his father’s disappointed face.  

 “You know what they would do with boys like you in my day?” Brendol’s gravelly voice broke the rhythmic plodding of horse hooves. The air in the carriage filled with the smell of scotch and salty meat.

“You going to tell me about Bedlam again?” Hux asked, “How they’d strap boys like me down and drill holes in our skulls?”

“Aye…”

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Arkanis Hall rose up from the mist, only the lamps in the front room had been left on for the lords. Hux immediately leapt from the carriage, stumbling and bit before heading for the back of the house.

“Where do you think yer goin’?” Brendol called after him.

“None of your bloody business!” Hux could hear his fathers labored breath as he chased after him.

“Get in the house, Armitage! Now, dammit! I’ve had enough of your nonsense tonight!”

“I want to see my horse!” Hux turned and shouted back. In truth, he knew Allegretto would not be interested in a midnight visitor, but she was a miserable sore spot for Brendol and Hux was bent on being as obstinate as he could.

 “Leave your nag! I said get inside!”

“No!”

It was too dark to be certain about what hit him. As Hux went to the ground, lights exploding in the dark behind his eye lids, he wagered his father must have grabbed one of the planks of wood that had been left over from when they had the storm door replaced. It sent Hux tumbling to the ground, unable to properly lift his head or get his bearings.

“You…,” he muttered, spitting up some blood, “you old…sonnof-a….”

A foot went into Hux’s stomach and with a startled gasp he rolled on to his back.

“What’d you call me?”

“I said; you old son of a bitch!”

In a split second Hux realized those were to be his last words.

Brendon Hux had both hands around his son’s neck, wrapping his fingers around as tightly as he could. One leg was straddled on either side of Hux’s body. Under his grip, Hux arched his back and dug his nails into Brendol’s knotty hands. When that did nothing, he reached up into the dark and clawed at Brendol’s face but to no avail. Brendol would not relent.

Hux found his strength fading, it was becoming harder to fight back. Above him, Brendol grunted with the effort of strangling him. It was a horrible noise.

Above him the sky was dotted in stars. One by one, their lights began to dim. Hux felt some strange peace that they would be the witnesses to his-

“Get off of him!”

Brendol flew back, Hux gasped for air.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” It was Rae Sloan’s voice.

“This is not your place-!”

“Don’t you tell me where my place is! I know where I’m supposed to be! Protecting this child of yours from yourself!”

A clamor of shouting and fits ensued but Hux was unable to compose himself enough to figure out what was happening. To his relief though, he heard the familiar off kilter saunter of his father fading out while Sloan cried, “Don’t let me ever catch you on him like that again! Ever!”

Brendol said something back but drunk and defeated it all came out as a garbled mess.

“Come on baby, sit up,” Hux felt gentle hands on his back, helping him to pull his upper body off the ground. He fell back into Sloan’s thin but strong form, damp grass under his backside and legs.

“Just breathe,” Sloan continued to encourage, “everything’s all right now. Big deep breaths…” She sweetly began to pet his hair and rock him ever-so-slightly in her arms.

Sense returned and Hux became aware of the tears cooling on his cheek. His discarded them as simply a biological reaction to being strangled.

“Sloan,” he whispered into the darkness, “what are you doing out here…?”

“Never mind that,” she moved to hook her arms under his and slowly pulled Hux to his feet, “let’s get you cleaned up and out of the cold.”

Rae Sloan guided her young charge into the house and up to his wing. However, upon arrival Hux was too tired to do anything more than shed his filthy jacket and pants and kick off his boots. Sloan simply tucked him into bed and the long night was finally over.

Hux woke to the morning sun melting the frost that had collected on his window. His head ached from drink and his throat still felt as if Brendol had a grip on it. With a groan, Hux slowly rose from his bed and padded his way across the cold hardwood floors to his vanity. Deep purple bruises had already sprung up around his neck and there was a clear cut on his upper lip. His hair, with the aid of the pomade he had not washed out from the previous night, was a wild mess on his head.

“Want me to warm a bath for you?” Hux glanced up in his mirror to see the reflection of Sloan in the doorway.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

Rae Sloan nodded and turned to fetch the water.

After his bath, Hux decided to dress more simply for his day; a cream shirt, collarless, with a dark double-breasted vest. He parted his wet hair in the middle and let it lie how it pleased. Sloan then brought him some dry toast and a poppy tincture, two things he often needed after a night of drinking, along with some black coffee and morning suppressants.

Hux’s plans for the day mostly involved hiding in his private wing. He had enough books to last him a lifetime and would happily sit and read until Arkanis Hall rotted and fell around him.

The adventures of young Pip would be set aside. The grey day was the type for poetry, a day to get lost in pretty words and dreamy imagery. From his collection, Hux selected the Tennyson and with it he lit a few candles and drew the curtains in his sitting room.

_So runs my dream, but what am I?_

_An infant crying in the night_

_An infant crying for the light_

_And with no language but a cry_

Hux laid the book down over his chest. For all his reading, he had never found the right words for everything inside him. Perhaps in this way he was like a child or a wild beast, crying out in absolute frustration for there was no way to communicate what he felt. This just made Hux feel lonely; if the greatest poets in the world could not articulate his thoughts, maybe he was more flawed that even Brendol thought. 

Hux's mind suddenly flashed to Renault's eyes hunting him through the crowd. Those dark eyes, plush like the velvet sky of a moonless night.  Hux remembered how he could not look away from them, caught up in their echoing depths. How they drew him in to their game.

Over the years, it was safe to say Hux had looked into a thousand suitor's eyes and yet none had come close to galvanizing him the way Renault's had. Before words were spoken, he felt like he knew the Zouave from New Orleans more intimately than even his dearest friends.

Perhaps some things could not be communicated through words...

The sound of someone knocking at the front door floated upward to Hux’s wing. Since his room did not face the driveway, Hux had to venture out from his cocoon to sate his curiosity. He walked down the stairwell, halting on the landing between the first and second floor to get a glimpse of the unannounced visitor. Sloan was at the door talking to a coachman, Brendol was nowhere to be seen.

Hux wondered for a moment if this man was here to carry him away to the harbor and set him on a ship to London. Perhaps today was the day Brendol Hux would make good on his word.

“Goodness, what are you doing there?” Sloan and the coachman, his hat in his hands, were now looking up at him.

“I wanted to see who had come calling,” said Hux, shrinking back a bit. The bath had done wonders for his dirty face and hair, but the shameful marks upon his neck remained.

“Your friend Thomas Thanisson has sent a carriage with the request you join him in Charleston. Would you like to go?”

“I suppose,” Hux said hesitantly. No doubt Thanisson wanted to go looking for a new suit and frock coat for the wedding. An afternoon out with his friends did sound pleasant, Hux was not at all opposed to a day away from Arkanis Hall. But though Thanisson and Mitaka were well aware of the volatile relationship between Hux and his father, they had never visibly seen the level of violence Hux endured.

“It is quite cold out,” Sloan’s cheery voice broke his thoughts, “go grab a nice coat, not your black one,” she wagged a finger, “and I shall get your hat and scarf from the winter closet. How does that sound?”

Hux smiled.

“That would be just fine.”

The next best thing to his black coat was an old grey tweed jacket with big deep pockets and no coattails. Hux quickly put it on and slipped on his polished boots and a new pair of white gloves just as Sloan entered with the promised accessories; a black derby hat and a thick woolen scarf.

Slowly, Sloan worked the scarf around Hux’s neck, taking care to make sure it fully covered the bruises Brendol had left.

“There,” she said once satisfied, “that should do it.”

“Thank you,” Hux said quietly.

“Go on,” Sloan petted his cheek, “don’t keep your friends waiting.”

The carriage moved briskly across Johns Island and delivered Hux in front of the small bar on the north side of The Benedict.

The bar was warm and dark. Young men roared with laughter at the bartop and spilled their drinks as they gripped one another with cheers. Unfamiliar accents bounced off the walls covered in nautical paintings. Some of the men were dressed in proper uniforms and other, much like Poe Dameron, wore coonskin caps and thick canvas shirts with all the trappings of a life lived in the wild territories.

“Can you believe it?” Hux turned to see Mitaka push through the crowd, Thanisson close on his heels. “I couldn’t even get a hot cider!”

“I’ve never seen it so full,” said Hux. “Are all these men staying here?”

“So to speak,” Thanisson laughed, “Rivas has given the bar and the lobby to the army for use. Right now, they’re utilizing it for an enlisting post. There are men here from as far away as Texas!”

“Stars,” Hux breathed in wonder. He began to notice a few men staring and whispering among themselves, no doubt about his and Mitaka’s white gloves. A bar full of strange men was certainly the last place an unmated Omega ought to be spotted.

“We should get going,” Hux said. Mitaka nodded, no doubt he was beginning to realize that they were not in a safe place.

“I agree,” Thanisson though seemed completely oblivious to the precarious situation. “Let’s get some lunch, perhaps some she-crab soup at the market? I’m starving!”

The stares continued throughout the day, though these now came from the socialites who had attended the ball at the Exchange the night before. Hux’ reputation had already been quite poor before, but the events of the night before had made him a genuine social pariah. People moved aside with sneers and scoffs as he and his friends made their way through the open air market.

“Don’t let these ninnies get under your skin,” Mitaka consoled over lunch. “It’s still fresh in everyone’s mind but with all the excitement of war buzzing around, last night will soon be forgotten.”

“I’m the Omega who called out an honorary Confederate Captain,” Hux said with a little chuckle, moving his spoon absently around his bowl of she-crab. “Which means I’m destined for the long, dreary life of a spinster.”

“Rivas said that Renault Solo was quite out of line,” Thanisson said. A little blush bloomed in cheeks, “And I think it was brave of you to call him out.”

“Thank you,” Hux lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips to hide his smile.

It did not take Thanisson long to find a proper suit for his wedding. His love for long coattails aside, he was a simple young man with understated taste. He chose a cream colored three-piece with a light blue shirt and, as soon as it was packed away is a big box with a bow, the friends headed over to his tailor to get it fitted. Along the way, Mitaka asked all the sensible questions about where the ceremony ought to be, how many people shall be in attendance and so forth.

The sun was well past set once they left the tailor. The three men began to aimlessly wander down the streets, enjoying the clear and breezy evening and trying to decide where they ought to stop for coffee before Hux returned to Arkanis Hall to retire. On King Street they passed the big apothecary with its tall windows stuffed with the new items of the season; fancy soaps and tinctures and herbal teas.

Hux began to slow before the display and then finally halted.

“Everything all right?” Thanisson turned to ask.

“You said Renault and his men are staying at The Benedict, right?”

“Yes, he paid for the residential suite for himself.” Hux smiled at the window display.

“I think I should like to send him a little gift.”

* * *

 

 

Ren folded up the letter in his hands and looked up to Poe.

“This is it then.”

“Negotiations have failed,” Poe said somberly, shrugging his crossed arms, “Beauregard had made his decision.” Ren ran his fingers along the creases of the letter as he turned to face the harbor. His view from the residential suite in The Benedict had a perfect view of Fort Sumter.

“Of all the places,” he whispered to himself.

“South Carolina has been clamoring or Lincoln’s head since his inauguration,” Poe moved to pour himself a glass of the buttery chardonnay Ren had chilling beside the buffet table. “And there is a Union fort right in the heart of Charleston harbor. The first shot could be fired nowhere else but here.”

“Are you so certain this war will start with such fanfare?”

“You can’t possibly think they’d surrender!” Poe laughed. “That fort has no hope of survival, but they will not relinquish it. Those men would rather die on that island before they see it fall into Confederate hands.”

Ren tossed the letter onto the small desk The Benedict had provided him.

“Then they will die.”

The words came with no compassion, no care. Ren might as well have been talking about ants who had come to spoil a picnic.

“It will be brutal,” Poe said quietly, “those men are starved, and sleep deprived…”

“Captain Dameron, I have one job here in Charleston; to keep New Orleans safe from Union attacks.” Ren turned to face him fully, the iridescent paisley pattern of his smoking jacket dancing in the low lamp oil light. “My city, my home, is the lynch pin of the Confederacy. It is the largest port in the south, and, also the mouth of the Mississippi River. If Union soldiers have to die in your harbor to keep it safe, then I hope your shores turn red with their blood.”

Beneath the window of Ren’s suite a few drunken men sang ‘Bonnie Blue Flag’.

 _‘Hurrah, hurrah!’_ Even three stories up their singing was clear as day, _‘Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!’_

Poe began to move his glass in a tight circle, watching the wine roll around with it.

“I wanted to come back to Charleston as I remembered it; lace and tailcoats, little porcelain figurines on the mantle, long nights out on the plantations and summers walking along White Point Garden, watching fireflies gather in the twilight…” He gulped down the wine and let out as sigh of pleasure. “I wanted to be free of the heavy tension I carried on my shoulders out in the territories. Life was so bleak, so fragile.” Poe put the glass down and smiled. “Perhaps I’ve had a bit too much.”

“No,” said Ren, crossing the room to grab the bottle from where it was chilling in the carafe, “have another. Enjoy such luxuries while you can.” He uncorked the bottle and filled Poe’s glass once more.

“When are they planning the attack?” He then asked, turning to pour a glass for himself.

“The second week of April.”

“It’s March 30th; doesn’t give us much time.”

“Enough time to enjoy such luxuries,” Poe presented his glass, “what shall we toast to? Good wine? Fine food? Beautiful men and women?”

Ren drew in a deep breath through his nose and raised his glass.

“To the rose of Johns Island.”

Their glasses clinked.

 “I still cannot believe you took his glove,” Poe said after taking in half the wine, “I warned you, the boy has thorns!”

“I heard what you said to him,” Ren took a seat in one of the tall back chairs in his room. “Tell me, was Armitage Hux always a, what were the words you used?” He raised an eyebrow, “Wild animal?”

“No,” Poe said sadly. “The first time I saw him I was struck with how serious he was. He was perhaps only seven years old, red hair and a face full of freckles. He never smiled, never laughed. Just followed his father Brendol around from one music lesson or painting class to the next.

“As I grew older, and,” Poe smiled, “as he grew older, I began to see how handsome he was to become. Not knowing a thing about him, I begged my father to make arrangements with Brendol Hux so I might have the chance to court him.”

 “What was he like?” Poe’s mouth broke into a roaring laughter.

“Thoroughly uninterested! He had a book he kept trying to read but his father kept demanding for him to make conversation with me. The whole thing was so embarrassing I couldn’t even look at him. When the hour was up, Armitage just hopped up from his seat and walked out of the room without a word.

“The second and third time weren’t much better. By then he had taken up hunting and despite his father’s _strong_ insistence he talk about something else, it was all Armitage cared about.”

“He hunts?” The look of surprise was the first true emotion Poe had seen on the Zouave’s face.

“Armitage Hux is not like any Omega I have ever met,” he said, “there were some out west who certainly adapted, learned how to shoot and rope but,” Poe shook his head, “with them in was necessity. Armitage though, he’s like a stallion you just can’t break. Stars know his father has tried. All he wants to do is run and buck and be free, no matter what the consequences.”

“I believe it was Thoreau who said, quote, all good things are wild and free,” Ren said, sipping at his wine.

Poe laughed.

“That somehow implies he’s good.”

A firm knock rapped on the door. Ren stood and went to open it.

 “This just arrived for you, sir,” Clarence, the old porter, presented a small package to Ren.

“I didn’t order anything,” Ren said but took the item just the same.

“It was brought by a young man who wished to remain anonymous.”

“Did this young man have red hair and icy blue-eyes that could cut you in half?” Poe called from the room.

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Clarence smiled, pleased that he had remembered these details.

“Thank you,” Ren removed a coin from his pocket and gave it to the porter, “good night.”

Ren brought the item over to the desk and set it down.

“It’s light,” he said, undoing the wrapping, “any speculation as to what our rose brought me?”

“Vinegar,” Poe said flatly, “he sent me one too. Almost every man in Charleston has gotten a bottle of vinegar from the King Street apothecary. He thinks it's a clever way to show his disinterest.”

Poe could not help but to notice the clear disappointment in Ren’s eyes when he pulled away the paper to reveal ‘Uncle Ben’s Cider Vinegar – Mt. Tatooine, Vermont’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I want some she-crab soup...


	4. Chapter 4

Hux slept incredibly well once he arrived home. Brendol was locked up in his study, drinking and stewing in self-pity. Sloan fixed him up a warm tea with honey and a touch of brandy to take with his nighttime suppressants. Hux dreamed of nothing during his long slumber.

The next morning was layered with low clouds and the smell of distant rain. It was the last cool day of March and Hux woke determined not to let it get away unexplored. He dressed in his best jodhpurs and his black leather riding boots that secured themselves with buckled straps all the way up the leg.

Without hesitation he pulled out his black winter coat, marveling at the beautiful silver silk lining that allowed it slip on like second skin. He then wrapped the scarf from the day before around his neck just as Sloan had done and then headed down the back stairwell that led directly to the butler’s pantry and kitchen.

The smell of fresh ground coffee was there to greet him as well as Rae Sloan and a smorgasbord of food. The Hux family china, carried all the way over from England, was set with fresh fruit, buttery croissants and biscuits with raspberry jam. Beside that was the antique silver, laid out to be polished. The sight made Hux snorted a laugh as he thought about how his father would inelegantly shovel the fine cutlery into his mouth with his meaty paws.

Sloan looked up from where she was slicing a wheel of cheese.

“Brendol’s going to want sausage,” Hux said casually as he grabbed himself an orange. Expertly he punctured the skin with his thumb and began to peel it.

“Then your father can cook it himself,” Sloan stabbed the knife into the wheel before wiping her hands on the towel thrown over her shoulder. “Bless! Don’t you look handsome!” She beamed at her ward, “Truth be told, I’ve always loved you in black. I wish you could wear it more often.”

“Me too.”

“I assume you’re going for a ride then?”

“I am,” Hux pushed an orange slice into his mouth. It made a mess on his chin and Sloan chuckled as he tried to wipe it away.

“Might want to make it a long one,” she said, “your father is expecting company today.”

“Who?”

“Edrison Peavey.”

Hux never told Rae Sloan about the night in Hilton Head. Upon his return though, Hux became a terrible recluse and anyone who tried to rouse him from his wing was met with cursing and flying books and baubles. One night, Sloan found the boy crying in the dark, an empty bottle of stolen red wine on his nightstand. She asked no questions and tucked him in to bed but the next morning Rae found a very different Armitage Hux coming down from the north wing.

The curious fifteen-year-old boy who would hover around and pester her questions was gone. Certainly, Armitage Hux had been reserved, cautious about who let into his little world. But the wide-eyed optimism of youth was gone, as well as all the hopes and desires it carried. Hux was now just a sullen shadow of himself, only finding joy within the solitude of nature.

“Maybe I’ll go down to the shore for the day,” Hux said absently, breaking Sloan’s thoughts.

“Here, take this,” Sloan pulled a large blue and white cloth napkin from one of the bottom drawers of the kitchen island. She laid it out and began to fill it with fruits and breads. “Be sure to grab a few sugar cubes for Allegretto on your way out.”

“Sloan!” Brendol’s gruff voice roared through the house.

“Go!” She urged in hushed words. Hux did not need to be told twice and he headed out to the dry storage shed attached to the kitchen to grab some sugar cubes. From there he went to the stable’s tack room to retrieve his hunting rifle, which he often kept in one of the unused feed silos.

On that morning though, Hux found something unusual yet strangely familiar stuffed into the corner of the silo. Blue and white and soft, he pulled it out to find it was a napkin, just like the one Sloan had given him. Had he not been in a rush to escape he might have brought it back to the house, but he could already hear his father calling his name. Hux saddled up Allegretto, holstered the gun and rushed out of the stable.

Together they rode down to the heart of John Island, past the tiny villages and through the ancient oak tree groves that made a perfect place for Allegretto to practice her jumps. When thirsty, she would pull Hux stubbornly to the small creeks and ponds and he laughed as she curiously pushed around the quickly-melting ice clumps with her muzzle.

As the day wore on, dark lavender clouds began to roll in from the Atlantic. Allegretto though did not seem at all bothered with the change and continued to pull at her reigns, an indication that she wanted to keep trotting along.

Further out from the dense oak groves were open meadows that were full of small wildlife. As Allegretto walked aimlessly around, Hux scanned the brush for rabbits or, if he were lucky, a bobcat or racoon.

Instead his eyes fell upon a sight that made his blood boil hot.

He immediately recognized Renault Solo’s wild black hair from across the field. It bounced in time with the gait of his horse, a Paint stallion Hux knew one could rent from the Waccamaw people who kept up a small stable and store outside of Charleston.

Renault was poorly dressed for the weather, riding around in just a linen ghillie shirt and slacks. Even at a distance, Hux could see his boots were the impractical patent leather ones the army had been giving to officers. The man was like a wounded animal, defenseless in a strange land.

Slowly, Hux pulled his rifle up from the saddle holster.

He waited until Renault halted the Paint to pull what looked like a compass from his satchel. As he studied the compasses face, Hux took aim at a spot in the trees ten feet above the Captain’s head.

The Paint immediately bucked at the sound of gunfire but Renualt managed to wrangle the startled beast back on all fours. An impish smile curled Hux’s lips and as readied his rifle once more.

“That was a warning shot!” Hux’s voice echoed as richly as the gun had across the meadow, “The next one will make contact!”

Renault looked around with a comically confused expression before finding Hux up on a grassy mound. He dug into his pocket before raising his hands in defense.

“I come bearing a peace offering!” Renault shouted back. Hux narrowed his eyes on the item he presented; white, cotton, small and flopped over in his hand.

It was a glove; it was _his_ glove.

“I accept,” Hux lowered his gun. For a moment they stood in the field, eyes locked like that night at the Exchange.

“Would you like to join me?”

Hux made a few sweeping glances across the meadow, allowing his eyes to linger on large rocks or tall grasses sporadically scattered about. Mitaka had warned that his father labeled New Orleans folk as uncouth. Uncouth to Hux though was an open door to deviousness and Renault Solo had already proven himself to be a tricky character.  Though it did not seem possible to booby-trap and entire field in one morning, Hux also did not know what Renault was doing so far from Charleston and so deep into Johns Island.

“You come to me,” Hux decided, readying his gun again, “nice and slow.”

Renault did the best he could, navigating his semi-domesticated horse with one hand while holding the glove high like a flag of surrender.

“I have no intentions of dying in South Carolina; whether by your deft hand or a soldier’s.”

“I had no intention of losing my glove last night, yet here we are.”

Allegretto snorted with annoyance once Renault was able to get close enough for Hux to snatch the glove back.

 “Give it here!” After thoroughly inspecting it for damage, Hux stuffed the glove into his coat pocket. He then lowered his rifle and slipped it back into the holster.

“Am I forgiven?” Renault asked, his voice lacking in any real inflection or sincerity. Hux guided Allegretto back towards the trees.

“No.”

“Armitage Hux!” Renault called after him.

Hux pulled Allegretto’s reigns to bring her to a halt.

He had heard his name a thousand ways, mostly in anger and hurt. Sloan was the first person who spoke it with any true affection. Renault Solo wielded his name with a sense of ownership. Hux could feel that possession down to his soul. Instinct forced him to turn and answer.

 “Who taught you my name?” He asked haughtily. “Was it that lovelorn Poe Dameron? Did he dare you to take my glove?”

This question seemed to amuse Renault.

“He warned me about your thorns. But I have always been a stubborn man; I took your glove to test your ferocity.”

“And are you satisfied, Renault Solo?”

“Ren Solo,” Ren firmly corrected, “and do not fear, Armitage, you exceeded my expectations.”

“I only allow my closest confidants to use my first name,” Hux made a little scowl, “you may call me Hux.”

 “Hux it is,” Ren gave him a nod, “am I forgive now?”

“Why ask me for forgiveness? I am in no position to absolve you of any wrongdoings.” Ren walked the Paint a little closer, until the two men were even on the mound.

“What if I got on my knees?”

“My friend was right!” Hux pushed his face back into his neck, his features pulling and twisting in the most unflattering way. “Men from New Orleans are vile!” He knocked his heels into Allegretto’s side, a sign for her to break into a sprint. The mare did not fail and in a split second, Hux was riding away from Ren’s shocked expression.

“Wait!” Renault’s voice commanded but Hux paid him no mind. Whatever spell had been cast on him before was broken. Behind him he could hear Ren direct the Paint to give chase.

Hux felt himself tremble with excitement as he leaned down to Allegretto’s ear.

“Let’s show him what we can do.”

Ren and his horse had no chance. Hux had trained his mare on the wet sands of the beaches of the island. Her legs were strong, footing sure. When let loose on the open meadow, Allegretto could out run lightning. The clear gap between them did not deter Ren though as he pushed for the Paint to close it.

 Allegretto ducked into an oak grove. The mature trees were tightly packed, their roots making the narrow path particularly tricky. Hux was certain it would be impossible for Ren to follow him. To his surprise, he heard a set of hooves running out of time with Allegretto’s. Through the foliage, passing in and out of his peripherals, Hux could see the bold white and tan pattern of the Paint. The two were now in a dead heat.

The trees began to thin. The moment Hux had a wide enough space, he firmly pulled Allegretto’s reins to make a sudden turn and head for Church Creek. If the grove did not prove a challenge, perhaps the swiftly moving waters of the creek would. It took Ren some time to find his way out of the grove which helped Hux regain his lead.

“Almost there,” Hux whispered in the wind rushing past, “just get to the creek, get to the creek…”

And then the sky opened up.

A wave of torrential rain poured over Hux. Allegretto maintained her composure and speed, completely unphased. In the break of the storm Hux lost track of Ren and his Paint. Visibility went down to nothing; the soft light of the afternoon had turned to midnight.

Hux changed Allegretto’s direction, driving her now towards an abandoned farm he often sought shelter in when Brendol became too difficult to deal with. Halfway there though, the temperature made a sharp drop. Hux shivered fiercely under his heavy coat. Reaching up, Hux realized his scarf had been lost in the chase.

Cold burrowed through his skin and made his bones ache. Hux was used to the sudden icy showers of the Atlantic seaboard but…Ren might not be.

Ren also did not have a coat and was in unfamiliar terrain with nothing but a compass that would be impossible to read in the downpour. To leave him out in the elements might be a death sentence to the Zouave solider.

 “Damnation!” Hux shouted in time with a crack of thunder. Allegretto let out a shrill whinny to match. Though thoroughly displeased, Hux turned the mare around and headed back into the wet and dark to find Renault Solo and bring him to safety.

* * *

 

A black curtain of rain closed around Ren, swallowing up the mare it’s daring rider before him. It was as if the entire world had disappeared. Only cold and wet remained. The Waccamaw horse must have sensed his confusion as it slowed its gait to a steady trot. Ren reached for the compass. He managed to read it briefly though cracks of lightening but could glean little more than the fact he was heading slightly east.

“Renault!” A voice carried over the rain. “Ren!”

Lightning flashed, and Ren could see him; Armitage Hux, charging up with his horse with incredible speed. The mare circled around him, gaining the attention of the Paint.

“Follow me!” Hux directed. He slowed the speed of his horse, so Ren could keep up. They trotted along for what seemed like forever, Ren felt himself slip into a malaise. All his senses were being assaulted; the rain felt like pellets, the cold had left him numb. Just when Ren felt like he was about to collapse, they entered under the eaves of a wooden structure, rain pattering on the roof above. Though thoroughly soaked Ren was relieved to at least be out of the storm.

 “Hold here,” Hux dismounted his mare, lading lightly on the wet hay that was tickling Ren’s nose. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Ren was able to make out Hux’s lean silhouette reaching up into the eaves to pull something down. A flame appeared, highlighting Hux’s nose and cheekbones. Slowly he moved with the flame cupped in his hand, bringing it down to the ground and bring to life a small fire. Ren could see that a pit had been dug and was lined with bricks and stone.

“What is this place?” He asked, dismounting onto the hay, his teeth chattering as he spoke.

“The stables of an old farm,” Hux said, fanning the small fire with his hand, “it belonged to the Erso family. Some bastard with a plantation on south tip ran them off years ago.”

“I see,” again, Ren’s teeth rattled against each other. Hux shot up from his squatted position near the pit.

“You need to get those clothes off.”

Ren was shocked with his commanding tone. “Don’t look at me like that! If you stay in those soaking wet clothes, you’re going to catch your death of cold. Here,” Hux went to the corner of the stable and pulled up a rope. Ren watched as he rigged it up to make a sort of clothesline close to the flame.

“Hang them here,” Hux directed, once more in the same unquestionable tone. Ren pulled the ghillie shirt up over his head, so thoroughly soaked it clung awkwardly to his skin.

He could sense Hux’s eyes on him, clinical and calculated, like those of a doctor. The only interest seemed to be in keeping Ren from contracting pneumonia.

Ren thought to say something smart, but as he moved to speak, a sneeze came out instead.

“Foolish man,” Ren heard Hux mutter in his sweet accent, “what were you thinking?”

Something warm and soft was draped over his shoulders. It was the black coat Hux had been wearing. Almost immediately he began to feel better.

“Thank you,” Ren said, pulling it snuggly around himself. “This is the finest coat I have ever seen.”

“My father has all of our winter coats sent from England,” Hux went to settle down by the fire, “they are designed to survive the harshest of winters.”

Ren turned to see the man who delivered him from the storm lounging on a hay pile. He was completely dry, save his red hair which was becoming a messy poof on his head. Hux’s riding jodhpurs hugged his skin, revealing the lean design of his legs. What once was certainly a neatly pressed top was now a half-untucked mess that slouched deeply around the neckline, giving Ren a peek at Hux’s smooth chest. Ren vaguely remembered the man had been wearing a scarf, but it must have been lost in the chase.

An inexplicable anger stirred inside him when Ren saw where hands had left bruises on Hux’s neck.

“Are you hungry?” Hux asked, suddenly aware that he was being stared at, “I have a small bit of food in my saddle bag.”

“No,” Ren said, “I have some whiskey though, if you like.”

Ren could see hesitation in Hux’s eyes. The small fire cracked and popped in the silence his question left.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Worried about your reputation?” Hux cocked his head, his full lips pulled into a little smirk.

“I’m worried about yours.” Ren turned and headed back to where the horses were tied up.

“You said it yourself; this is an abandoned farm. I am not concerned about being found out. Besides, you have done me a great favor by bringing me out of the storm and giving me your coat,” he pulled the whiskey bottle from his saddle bag, “I am honor bound to repay you.”

“Is that a pirate’s code?” Hux asked, moving to make room beside him on the hay pile. Ren took a seat with an annoyed huff.

“I am more than a pirate’s son, you know.”

“Since I only know you as a thief and a liar; then no, I do not know.”

“My mother is royalty; a descendant of Marie Antoinette,” Ren popped the cork from the whiskey bottle and took a swig.

“Stuff and nonsense,” Hux chided, “what a ridiculous statement.” He took the bottle from Ren’s hand and gulped down twice as much as the soldier had without blinking an eye. Hux let out a refreshed gasp and wiped away a small dribble of whiskey from his lips with the back of his hand.

“You are a wild thing, aren’t you?” Ren marveled, “Poe mentioned you were a hunter, I didn’t really believe him until today.”

At this Hux snorted a laugh, shook his head and took another drink.

 “He thinks very highly of you,” Ren added.

“He wants to mate with me,” Hux said, voice raspy from a deep swing, “even now. It’s pathetic.”

“How so?” Hux regarded Ren warily.

“I am not talking about this with you.”

“We have whiskey and this storm is not letting up. Besides, I have no ties to Charleston. In all likelihood, I’ll be shipped out of here within a fortnight. Whatever secrets you have are safe with me.”

Hux’s pale eyes absorbed the fire and bore into Ren’s like hot coals. They betrayed nothing, only searched Ren for any trace of duplicity.

“It’s not a secret,” Hux finally said with a long, slow blink, “I loathe all the grand gestures. The courting and the visiting. All the airs they put on just for the chance to rut into you like a dog.” He raised an eyebrow, “He courted me three times, did he tell you that?”

“He did.”

“It was an elaborate affair. Each time he came with a new outfit, tailored and freshly pressed. He brought me flowers and little trinkets and out fathers sat and talked about land. I was expected to go into laborious detail about every little craft I had learned over the years, no doubt to prove how much money had been spent on my education. No doubt to serve as the polish on Brendol Hux’s little prize…” Hux took another swig.

“The end game was simple though; the point being for Poe Dameron to mate with me. You say he talks highly of me?” Hux laughed, “I will tell you right now, Poe Dameron doesn’t know a bloody thing about me.”

“Do you not though make it a challenge? Roses are known for having thorns.”

“If you don’t have thorns, they don’t court you!” Hux scowled fiercely, “They just take what they want, and Alphas only ever want one thing. It doesn’t matter how many classes I take, instruments I learn, books I’ve read. Everything is just a show to hide the fact that all I am is,” Hux bit back vulgar words, “I’m just an Omega.”

“It is a senseless system,” Ren said quietly, “I myself have wondered why we still adhere to its rules. It seems more logically and, honestly, more progressive to allow the Omega to choose the mate. After all, they do bear the burden of childbirth and rearing.”

At this Hux let out a bellied laugh.

“That is like the lion saying it’s a shame we have to eat the antelope. You can commiserate all you like but someday, if you manage to live through this war, you will court and mate an Omega of your own.”

“You think so?”

“I am certain,” Hux handed the whiskey bottle back to Ren. “Enough of this, let’s talk about something else!”

“How about hunting?” Ren suggested. “Poe said you liked to go on and on about it. I too have some tales from trekking through the swamps with my Uncle Chewie.”

“What on earth do you hunt in swamps?”

“Gator,” Ren said stolidly, “the skins are worth a small fortune. Not to mention their meat is quite tasty, when prepared right.”

Hux wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“I very much doubt there’s a right way to prepare gator to _eat._ ”

“My Uncle Chewie is a Cajun - _un Cadien._ He’s seven foot even, can bare hand wrestle any gator and has the fastest keelboat in the gulf. He grew up eating gator meat and knows how to make it palatable. Mostly, just makes it spicy.

Hux laid his head back in the hay pile, his eyes softly lidded from drink.

“Tell me about hunting gator with your uncle.”

Ren did exactly that. He had about a hundred stories about following his giant uncle (who wasn’t _really_ his uncle) through the treacherous swamps, learning to how hook pig entrails on a line to set a trap and learning how to snatch a water moccasin by the tail and throw it clean across the bayou.

It was hard to tell if Hux was laughing at his stories or laughing at him. Ren found he did not really care either way. Hux had an unexpectedly melodious laugh, airy and bright. It mingled with the rain and created a beautiful song that Ren never wanted to end. His smile was equally charming. More than that he was funny and sharp. Even as the whiskey grew low, Hux still managed a shrewd observation what would catch Ren off guard.

Eventually though Hux succumbed to the passage of time. He drifed off without a word or a sign, just soft little snores passing over his lips. Ren fought fatigue off the best he could, overcome with a desire to watch over Hux as he slept. Protect him, despite the fact it was Hux who had saved him just a few hours before.

The rhythm of the rain began to play on Ren’s groggy mind. The fire was warm, and the whiskey had swept away all his worries, like a wave sweeping away footprints on a beach. Not a trace remained. The air was thick with the smell of the wood burning in the fire and of the wet hay and rain. Beneath that though was something misplaced. Citrus, Ren was certain of that, maybe orange. There was also a hint of sweet alyssum and lavender that reminded him of his mother’s small garden. Ren lolled his head over in the hay pile, his face falling into Hux’s hair.

Lavender and sweet alyssum, citrus and rain…

The world was quiet when Hux woke up. The rain had ceased, and the fire had dwindling down to a few wavering sparks, clinging for life to the wood. There was just enough light for him to make out Ren’s face.

The jacket had shifted in his sleep and had been pushed off one shoulder. Hux stared dazed at the man’s broad chest. Always were the men who courted him properly dressed in their frockcoats and high collar shirts. Hux had only ever seen shirtless men near the harbor, sailors as thy loaded and unloaded their wares in the humid Carolina summer. When he was sixteen, he a Mitaka slipped out of their classes to head down to the harbor to watch the swarthy sailors up from the Caribbean sweat and toil under the sun.

Heats had never been properly described to him. Hux had always been assured that when the time was right, and his Alpha came along he would experience something akin to a flower opening inside him and he would happily give himself to his adoring, loving, protective mate. Watching those men did not feel like a flower. It was a visceral hunger, something Hux was not certain could ever be sated.

Such a drop in his stomach was growing again.

Hux noticed a scar traveled downward along his flank. Without thought, Hux reached out and allowed his fingers to lightly brush over the raised skin. Ren winced and whimpered in his sleep. Hux pulled his hand back and inwardly scolded himself.

“Ren,” he whispered, “Ren, the storm’s broken.”

“Hm?” Ren’s eyes fluttered. “Wha-?”

“Stars; how long were we asleep?” Ren lurched forward with a groan and tried to steady himself.

“Are we still on that farm?”

“Yes,” Hux got to his feet. He was still quite tipsy but managed to keep himself steady. Ren pushed himself up, though his footing was not as sure as Hux’s and needed a support beam to keep him from toppling back over.  

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get back to Charleston from here, do you?”

“I can get you back to the main roads. From there, if you follow the Wappoo Creek it will take you the Ashley River. Cross it, and you’re back in Charleston proper.”

A quiet settled between them in the soft shadows of the barn. Hux sucked in his breath and held it. _What if he asks me to come with him?_ He would have to deny the request of course. They could not be seen riding through the streets late at night together. Worse, Ren was staying at The Benedict where Thanisson was now residing. It was be an absolute disaster if-

“That should be fine; thank you.” Hux slowly released his breath. “Is my shirt dry?”

“Let me see,” Hux went over to the line and rubbed the thin linen fabric of Ren’s ghillie shirt between his fingers. “Quite dry,” he tossed it over to Ren who immediately slipped it on.

They rode under the light of a half-moon, the earth soft beneath the horse’s hooves and the lingering droplets of rain upon the grass and leave mirrored the stars above. Hux brought Ren to the main road that would lead him back to Charleston.

“Will I see you again?” Ren asked.

“Perhaps.”

“What if I bring more whiskey and you take me for a hunt?” A small smile appeared on Hux’s lips.

“Are you trying to court me, Captain Renault Solo?” Ren shook his head.

“How could I ever compete with that dashing Poe Dameron?”

“Vile New Orleans man!” Hux pulled Allegretto away, “If I ever catch you on my island again, you will get to see first hand what a fine huntsman I am!” There was not a hint of malic in his words though as Hux rode off into the night. Ren watched him go off into the dew and the mist, his red hair highlighted in moonglow.

He would make plans to rent a better horse, find a better whiskey and take the wild rose up on his offer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to move this story along as fast as I can. I'm so ready for war! Drama! Romance! Sex! Biologically impossible babies! And I know you are too. Just hang in there, kids!

Hux arrived at Arkanis Hall to find it mostly dark. This was somewhat of a relief for him, perhaps it meant Peavey had left for the evening and Brendol had fallen into a drunken slumber. Hux walked Allegretto to the stable, removed her saddle and put her in her pen. Alkazar, Brendol’s horse, snorted and rattled his pen gate. Rarely did the big draft try to make a play for Hux’s attention but when he remembered the sugar cubes in his saddle bag and saw Alkazar’s flaring nostrils, Hux figured out his sudden interest fairly quick.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Hux held out a few cubes for Alkazar to take. The draft’s lips nearly devoured Hux’s hand. “Don’t you bite my fingers, you big brute, or this is the last treat you’ll get from me!”

Alkazar reared his head, as if offended by Hux’s words. “Come now silly boy,” Hux adjusted his tone, attempting something a bit more saccharine, “I know you wouldn’t bite me on purpose.” When Alkazar only responded with furious stomps of his front hooves Hux began to realize that perhaps he was not alone. Alkazar had been slowly going blind over the last year which made him more anxious around unfamiliar smells. Any scent other than Brendol’s or Hux would cause him to panic.

“Sloan?” Hux called out into the empty stable. Inwardly he cursed himself for his impulsiveness. If it was not Sloan, he had foolishly left his gun in the tack room which meant he had no way to defend himself against an intruder.

Several shadows moved across the walls, lantern light bobbing along as they scurried through the hay. Hux remained still, noting the group was heading out the back gate of the stable. Gun or no gun, they were certainly frightened by Hux’s presence.

Once the lantern light faded and only the hum of insects filled his ears did Hux inch his way to the back gate. Gently it swayed in the breeze, the hook periodically tapping on the latch. Hux wondered if perhaps the whiskey was playing tricks on his mind. Arkanis Hall was the closest estate to Charleston, but there were much larger, much grander plantations on the south end of the island. Never had there been a thief on their property. Brendol was a landowner who made money through taxes not livestock and produce.

Knowing the rain would have muddied the land, Hux went out the gate to see what evidence might exist.

“What the…?” Sure enough, what looked like at least three sets of foot prints led into the woods. “What…?” Hux nearly stumbled back, dumbfounded and tipsy.

“Armitage!” Rae Sloan came tearing through the barn, one hand holding out a lantern and other clutching a shawl around her neck. “Thank goodness! I was beginning to worry!”

“Did you see anyone?”

“What are you talking about?” Sloan pulled the shawl off and threw it over Hux’s shoulders, “It’s absolutely freezing out here; let’s get you inside.”

“Someone was out here, someone,” his words trailed off as he noticed a small marking in the framework of the gate, “there’s something carved in the stable! Sloan, come look at this; bring your light!”

“That’s nothing but a wood knot,” she quickly assured, “you’re just seeing things cause you’re tired and,” she sniffed loudly at the air, “you’ve been drinking.”

“No,” Hux ran his fingers over the mark. It felt like a circle with a triangle on top pointed upwards, a triangle on the bottom pointed downward. “No, this is carved it. It’s a symbol.”

“Leave it be, we have to get you inside before your father gets home. If he smells that whiskey on you, he’ll tan both our hides!”

“Get’s back?” Hux straightened up, “Where’d he go?”

“Your father and Peavey went to visit Colonel Tarkin before the storm. They’ve yet to come home so your father doesn’t know about your extended excursion.”

All concerns about the marking and the mysterious trespassers quickly fell away at the mention of Colonel Wilhuff Tarkin. Hux developed an adoration for the reserved man when he father brought him or a visit at an early age. The retired Colonel’s townhouse was filled with all the trappings of the adventurous military life Hux could only dream of.

The Colonel was now a lawyer of some type. Brendol would consult with him from time to time about land and business and all the boring things that made him rich.

“What are they doing there?”

“There will be plenty of time for questions later,” Sloan took his hand and tugged, as if Hux were a toddler on the verge of having a tantrum, “let’s get inside and get you some warm, dry clothes!”

The next day found Arkanis Hall without it’s lord. Though unusual, Hux did not dare question it. It was rare for Brendol to leave his home, save for shopping his son around Charleston. Hux did not know what to do with so much time to himself. He mostly read when he had free time, but now without Brendol haunting the shadows, locking himself in his wing seemed like a waste.

Arkanis hall was constructed through Hux’s fourth and fifth year. The times spent at the site and seeing the framework raised and bricks laid were his earliest memories. At that age, Hux believed his father was building a castle for him; a true palace with a throne room and dungeon and perhaps a round table for his knights.

And then came the receiving room.

From that point on, Hux looked at Arkanis Hall as a gilded cage. With age he grew more reclusive, existing in the spaces that led him from his room to the stable and back.

It was nice to just wander the hall again. Hux lightly dragged his finger tips along the ornate wood paneling, refamiliarizing himself with the design. He studied the stained-glass windows that were fitted in the entry hall and found the box of handmade ceramic tiles from Italy that his father never ended up using in any room.

While trying to find a step stool to help him reach the pull cord to the attic door, Hux heard a knock at the front door.

His mind flashed with the image of Ren Solo, eyes leering from behind his scar. Those full lips pulled up in a little smirk. His moles and dark nipple easily seen through the white ghillie shirt made transparent in the rain.

Could it be he followed Hux home and learned where he lived?

Hux slowly made his way down the back stairwell. In his chest, he could feel his heart beat as fast as Allegretto’s when he raced her across the beaches. Each harsh thump-thump echoed in his ears. There was a tingling in his fingertips and a slithering tightness was taking hold of his nerves.  Hux was quick to dismiss these symptoms as anger. Truthfully, he did not appreciate the idea that he might have be stalked. No one in all his years of courting had ever attempted such an act. Beneath that though was a quivering baseline of excitement that caused Hux to skip somewhat playfully off the last step into the kitchen.

Disappointment hit him hard when he arrived in the entry to see the front door closed and Sloan flipping through a stack of envelopes.

“Yesterdays mail,” she smiled at him, “postman couldn’t come out in the storm. Oh!” She held up a tiny beige letter, “Got one here for you!”

“Who from?”

“Someone fancy,” Sloan laughed, turning the letter over in her hand, “it’s been sealed and stamped with wax.”

“Really?” Hux chortled a laugh himself as he took the letter. “Are you sure it’s for me?” Indeed, the letter was addressed to him, the return address being that of The Benedict, 1402 Church Street. The red wax on the back had been stamped with an ‘R’.

“I’ll bet you my horse this is a wedding invite from Thanisson.”

“I would love to have that horse of yours, but you’re probably right.” Hux opened the letter.

_Dearest Armitage,_

_I do not know which news I ought to share first! Rivas has confided in me that the war is close, there will be an attack on the fort within the coming weeks, if not sooner. He has insisted that we move up the wedding; it will be in two days._

_We have decided to have the ceremony at The Benedict, despite how crowded it is. The hotel has become a popular place for other war weddings. I beg that you come and participate as one of my patrons alongside Mitaka._

_Please, join us at The Benedict this Friday at one P.M. It will be an honor to have you there._

_Warmest regards,_

_The Soon-To-Be Thomas Rivas_

Hux folded up the letter and put it in his back pocket.

“Well?”

“I guess I’ll have to prepare a suit,” said Hux, “I am not certain if any of my good clothes are clean.”

“I’m doing a wash, you let me know what you want done.”

“Want some help?” Hux asked, “It’s not as if I have much else to do. And Brendol’s not here.”

Hux was already fifteen by the time Rae Sloan arrived at Arkanis Hall, but she was wonderfully different from any person he had ever met. Most Charlestonites spoke with such ostentatious bravado Hux found himself waiting to see if they could remove their own faces like mask and show their true selves. Sloan was so refreshing in her sincerity, there was a calmness that followed her wherever she went.

Because of this, Hux often abandoned his proper Omega studies to follow Sloan in the mundane chores around the manor, just for the opportunity to be close to her. On that morning though, Sloan did not seem keen to have her ward at her side.

“I do not think you’ll be happy with the task your father assigned to me before he left.”

 “Oh?”

“I am expected to wash the sitting covers in the receiving room, as well as sweep and dust and undo the curtains.”

“Brendol told you to do that?” Sloan nodded. “I see; thinks he’ll make a war bride of me now?”

“He talked quite a bit with Peavey last night. Come,” Sloan took his hand, “I’ll tell you while we do the wash. I do not like to talk in this house,” she raised an eyebrow, “I always feel like there are _spies_!”

If hunting was the worst thing Hux could do in his father’s eyes, washing clothes was a close second. The cold water and soaps would dry his hand, the repetitive motion and crisp Atlantic air would cause the skin to break. The task of scrubbing filth from another’s fine clothes was for only the lowliest person. Hux though found the repetitive movement of washing and wringing and pressing the clothes quite meditative. He liked the smell of the soap and the feeling of accomplishment that came with seeing the baskets of dirty blankets and blouses grow empty and the drying lines full.

 “Brendol wants to sell the house,” Sloan told him as they worked the wringer, “he is certain that the Union aims to raze Charleston to the ground as, after all, that city has behaved little better than a child poking a sleeping dog. After that, the northern armies will just take what they like. He talked in length about how in England the army could commandeer an enemy’s home.” She shook her head, “And we’re the enemy now.”

“He told this all to Peavey?” Hux asked.

“Right before they headed out to see Colonel Tarkin. Peavey doesn’t think the Confederacy will last a year. Told your father he’s bought so obscene amount of land out in the Kansas Territory. Stars, what did he say? Seventy thousand?”

Hux felt like the wind had been knocked from him.

“Seventy _thousand_?” He gasped, “That’s a larger parcel of land than all of Johns Island!”

“He said there will be nothing left once the war is over; progress will move west, and he will be there to meet it.”

“And where will Brendol go?”

“Back to England,” Sloan shrugged, “so he says anyway.”

“Hence why he wants to marry me off…,” Hux threw the last shirt into his basket, “lovely.”

The sun was out, high and white and casting a dull light on the land. Hux and Sloan began to hang to clothes up on the line, hoping they might be dry by sundown.

 “Can I tell you something?” Hux asked. Sheets danced around them in the gentle breeze, like lonely arms beckoning to a lover.

“You know you can tell me anything, Armitage.”

“It’s about last night,” Hux began, “why I came home so late.”

“Oh?” Sloan’s actions began to slow, a smile curling on her lips, “What’s his name?”

Had it been anyone other than Rae Sloan, Hux would have demanded an apology for questioning his character. A valuable aspect of his reputation was that he was wholly untouched, above carnal pleasures.

“Renault Solo,” Hux said sheepishly, “he’s the captain of the New Orleans Zouaves. You should see them Sloan, they’re quite a sight. They wear red scarves around their faces, so you can’t tell one from the next.”

“He wears a scarf over his face?”

“Renault doesn’t, though his face is marred with a horrible scar that stretches down his neck and chest.”

“And you’ve seen this scar?”

“I caught him out in the rain, poorly dressed,” Hux quickly countered Sloan’s suggestive tone, “so I took him to the old Erso farm and had him take off his wet shirt to keep from catching cold. Nothing more sinister than that.”

“And the whiskey?”

“His idea, he brought it. He insisted that I imbibe as I had indeed saved his life.” Sloan snorted a small laugh as she turned to pull another shirt from her basket.

“I am sure he did insist,” she said, just loud enough for Hux to hear.

“It’s not like that with Ren.”

“And how is it with _Ren_?”

“He’s interesting to me, different. You cannot imagine what it’s like to have a carousel of cookie-cutter men circle around you year after year. Men who only want to marry you for all the land and riches a mating would bring. Or,” Hux lowered his voice, “they’re just after the mating itself.”

“Do you not think this Ren fancies you?”

“I am sure he does, but he’s a solider. In a week’s time he will be gone from my life and I will not waste another thought on him.”

“Do you plan on seeing him again”

“He mentioned returning to Johns Island so I might take him for a hunt,” said Hux, “Ren told me he used to hunt gator in the Louisiana swamp.”

At this, Sloan roared with laughter.

“If he’s not afraid of gators, there’s a chance he can handle you!”

Brendol returned by carriage later that day. To Hux’s relief, it was without Peavey. Over a simple dinner of beef hash and peas Brendol talked in length about how pleased he was with the state of the receiving room.

“Waste of an afternoon,” Hux grumbled, picking at his meal, “I have no interest in being a war bride, much less in being a war widow.”

“You will do as you’re told,” a phrase Brendol had used so many times that not even he did believe it anymore. The words seemed to float off unnoticed from his lips.

“Sloan said you went to see Colonel Tarkin; how is he?”

“Well.”

“What is his opinion about the standoff over Fort Sumter? I got a letter from Thanisson this morning saying his fiancé believes war is close at hand.”

Brendol leaned back in his chair, the loose skin around his neck piling into little roles. His eyes narrowed into little slits above the purplish bulb that served as his nose.

“Do you think your little friend found himself a mate by asking incessantly about wars?” Brendol sounded like he wanted to laugh at the absurdness of his own suggestion. “Thomas Thanisson is a proper Omega and you should have learned to keep closer to him.”

“I kept plenty close to Thanisson, how he feels about Sol Rivas has nothing to do with me.”

“That boy came from weak stock,” Brendol said, taking a deep gulp of his wine, “cabinet makers, _undertakers_. He is now engaged far above his status and you, my son, the son of one of the wealthiest men in Charleston is nothing but a troublesome little cur!” Hux stared at his plate, at the greasy meat congealing into little white fat globules, acting like her could not heard Brendol’s scorn. “I had high hopes knowing Poe Dameron was back. I thought maybe you would fancy him more now that he was rugged and well-traveled. But then you had to go and make a damn spectacle of yourself and-”

 “Stars alive!” Hux finally cried out, “Really? Poe Dameron?”

“A fine mate he would have been! A man of equal class, strong and brave! Aye, there is no better a match. I could almost see my handsome grandchildren in his eyes the first day he come up here…”

“Time has not softened my heart,” Hux declared, “nor his status piqued my interest! Sell this bloody house and all this land! I’d live in a hole in the ground before I let you marry me off to Poe!”

Silence settled over the dining room. Between the two men, the flames of the candelabra swayed gently on the wick. Outside, both Allegretto and Alkazar could be whinnying as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Hux’s voice trembled. There was no going back now.

Brendol rose from his seat, eyes still locked with his sons as he slowly made his way across the dining room. Once close enough for Hux to smell his foul breath, Brendol grabbed his chin and forced Hux’s face to be square with his.

“What. Did. You. Say.”

Hux could feel the ghost of Brendol’s hands on his throat. The spot where each bruise lay suddenly felt hot; phantom pressure making it hard for him to breath. Tears began to pool in the corner of his eyes and gathered on his lashes.

“Nothing,” Hux’s voice squeaked.

“I was raised on a farm back in England, I come from a long line of men who broke beast to till and work the land. I have tamed more horses than years on your life. Buck and kick and cry all you like Armitage. But never forget, there is yet a wild creature I have not brought to heel and if you think you’re to be the first,” Brendol made a guttural snicker and shook his head, “don’t make it harder than it has to be, boy. Now,” he straightened up, releasing Hux’s chin, “clean up this bloody mess.”

“M-mess?” Hux blinked in confusion, releasing the fiercely held tears from his eyes.

Brendol smiled.

In one quick motion he took Hux’s plate and threw it against the wall.

He then walked out of the room, leaving his son sitting in stunned disbelief.

Hux cleaned the mess, quietly crying to himself and biting back loud sobs.

Crawling into bed that night, Hux pulled close the adventures of Pip, wanting deeply to escape into his exciting world.

_“I am what you designed me to be. I am your blade. You cannot now complain if you also feel the hurt”_

 

* * *

 

 

On Friday morning, Hux packed up a good suit into his bag and put on an old pair of riding jodhpurs and headed into Charleston. The streets that once served for lazy meandering for the city’s elite were now packed with men of all size and shape, camping out in makeshift tents and lean-tos and sitting tight around bonfires, cooking up pots of beans. The air was so dense with the smell of pinto beans and pork fat Hux could taste it in his mouth.

 “Hux!” Hux turned to greet the voice calling to him. From the crowd, upon a dark and dappled Percheron stallion that stood taller and wider than Alkazar, was Ren Solo. He was back in his black cape, a Confederate slouch hat on his head and the hair on his face neatly shaped into a goatee.

“Morning,” Hux greeted as he pulled Allegretto’s reigns to allow Ren to meet him. The Percheron was dressed with an ornate red and black saddle blanket with gold corded tassels, no doubt part of the Zouave regalia. “Found yourself a proper horse I see.”

“Seventeen hands tall,” Ren sighed, “stars help me if he’s wounded in battle. I told my men if I die from being crushed to death under this beast, just leave the corpse and speak not a word.”

“I am certain you will find a more glorious death,” Hux’s assurance dripped with sarcasm. Ren tipped his slouch hat and smiled.

“I am certain I shall. Perhaps a kiss from a fair Omega in hopes that a bullet will go straight to my heart?”

“I said glorious, not painless,” Hux barked a small laugh, “there is glory to be found in a slow bleeding wound to the gut. As for a kiss, perhaps I will save one for your cold lips when they ship you back in a pine box.”

“You seem to be in a better mood than the one I left you in. Venomous, but better.”

“Today is my dear friend Thomas Thanisson’s wedding and, as such, I am nothing but overjoyed for the occasion.”

“Another wedding,” Ren said with a groan, “just what we need.” His eyes suddenly went wide, searching the space beside and behind Hux.  “Wait; are you riding alone?”

“I am,” Hux straightened up in his saddle, “what of it?”

“Forgive me, I did not mean to insult you. Perhaps it is different here in Charleston, but in New Orleans it is considered gauche to attend a wedding by yourself.”

“I am unmated, therefore, I have no one to invite.”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that,” Ren opened the palm of this right hand and directed Hux to slow Allegretto’s pace. “I ask you though to keep your wits about you,” he continued in a hushed voice, “there are some unsavory characters coming into Charleston and I would hate to see you fall prey.” He then lifted the hand to the brim of his hat and gave it one last dip. “ _Au revoir,_ Armitage Hux ! Until fate draws our paths together once more."

Hux watched the Zouave ride off. He was like a deathly omen; a figure cloaked in black, riding high above the huddling, bedraggled men dressed in shades of brown and grey. Looking around, Hux tried to image the beautiful coastal city burning to cinders under billowing smoke clouds. Day replaced with an endless night, the smell of death and rot.

“Come on, Allegretto,” Hux shook himself from his daydream, “we’re going to be late.”

Hux fought his way through the crowd and arrived at Church Street and The Benedict and brought Allegetto to the stables.

There was no indication in the lobby that a wedding was expected to take place that afternoon. Soldiers milled around, the desk attendants talked idly with the bellhops. For a moment Hux wondered if perhaps he had misread the letter. If today were the day, Thanisson and his long coattails would certainly have plenty of lace and roses and champagne chilling for his guest.

At that moment, Sol Rivas walked down the grand front stairs. In the short days since the ball at the Exchange, dark circles had formed under his eyes and his once proud shoulders slumped under an unseen weight.

“Hello Rivas.”

“Armitage,” Rivas sighed his name with great relief, “you made it! Thomas was so worried you would not get the letter in time. Everything has been such a whirlwind since the engagement.”

“I can only imagine,” said Hux, “and, today is the wedding, correct?”

“Indeed,” Rivas slowly nodded, “I wish I could have prepared a more lavish affair for Thomas but,” he looked around his hotel, with its thick red carpet and brass wall sconces that dripped with little tear-shaped crystals, with a palpable sense of disappointment.

“Please, your hotel is one of the finest in town. I am certain whatever you two have managed to prepare will be just fine. As for myself,” Hux held up his bag, “is there somewhere I can change? I certainly don’t think he’d approve of this outfit.” He gestured to his dirty riding clothes.

Rivas laughed and shook his head.

“Stars, listen to us. Here I am worried about my hotel and you Armitage,” he laughed again, “Thomas would be happy if you arrived in your long johns and a sleep cap. You know how much he adores you.

“I unfortunately do not have an empty room at the moment, it was hard enough to keep a little space for weddings, ours include. Thomas of course is holed up in our suite.”

“Where is the wedding being held?”

“In the private dining room,” Rivas pointed to the bar, “there are some pocket doors right before you step down into the bar. I suppose, if you want, you could change in there but it’s right here in the lobby and-”

“Should be fine,” Hux walked past Rivas, “a quick change and a drink sounds perfect.”

 “Just leave the sign up!” Rivas called after him.

_Private Event – One P.M. – Do Not Disturb_

Hux carefully slid around the sign.

Sincere efforts had been made to transform the small dining room into a proper venue, festoons of white satin were draped over the seats; modest bouquets of baby’s breath and lilies were placed on pillars at the head of the aisle. Hux began to understand Riva’s reservations about the rushed ceremony. A man of his means could do far better for his bride.

Hux though considered it no matter of his and began to unbutton his shirt and slide off his boots. Just as he got his good black slacks buckled, the pocket doors flew into their slots.

And Poe Dameron was staring right at him.

“Dammit, Poe, close the bloody door!”

“Sorry, I,” Poe turned and clumsily pulled the doors shut, “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“Can’t you not read?” Hux hissed at him, trying to pull the sleeves of his dress shirt up his arms. “Private event, one o’clock!”

“It’s only noon and,” Poe ran his fingers through his hair, the act seeming to calm him, “I’m sorry, you’re right. I just usually use this room to clear my head.” The thick waves bounced back into place as he moved his hand down to his neck. “So many years away from Charleston, it’s been hard adjusting to all the noise and people…”

“I live in the middle of nowhere and I manage Charleston just fine,” Hux dismissed. Now finally having his shirt buttoned, he turned to see Poe shamelessly staring at him. It was a different stare from the ones Hux would see him shyly shoot across the crowded cobble streets or through the finely dressed patrons at a ball. It was blatant, raw. There was a hunger in Poe’s eyes Hux had never seen and, in all honesty, it frightened him.

“Will you stop looking at me like that?” Hux did his best to sound commanding but his words trembled and melted away like early snow.

“I just can’t get over how much you’ve grown,” Poe said softly. “When I left to go west you were just a little slip of a thing. You had that loose hair you had to push behind your ear, the one that always hung over your left eye. And your freckles,” a smile broke out across his face, “I wanted to count them, every single one…”

 “Poe,” Hux shook his head, “don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Poe was still smiling, but his tone had shifted sharply to one of anger and frustration. “Don’t tell you about the uncertainty of life in the west? How I rose each morning wondering if I would see the night? Don’t tell you that every time I felt a blade on my throat, heard the whooping cries of the natives on moonless nights or pushed against the strength of a wild beast I thought of you?”

Poe opened his arms out to the simple wedding dais, “Don’t ask if you ever thought this could be us?”

Hux turned away and began to busy himself with getting his cufflinks on.

“You have been gone for five years,” he said, seemingly to himself, “five bloody years and you couldn’t find someone else in all that time? What sort of fool torments himself like that?”

“The heart is not like the mind, it cannot be changed with logic and facts,” Poe slowly began to approach.

Hux’s motions froze, held in the curious position of fixing the left cufflink. The smell of damp earth began to seep into his senses, damp earth and magnolias and tobacco. Had Hux not been regular with his suppressants, Poe’s pheromone would have brought him slick and quivering to his knees. It was all the things he loved most, and it frightened him to know that such smells made up the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of Poe’s musk.

“Armitage?” Hux turned to greet his name.

“As your heart cannot be changed, nor can mine,” said Hux, “I have nothing for you Poe. You should have just stayed out west…”

Not half a beat after his words, Hux felt himself grabbed and pulled into Poe’s embrace. They were eye to eye, nose and nose, hearts beating furiously against one another.

“Let go!” Hux demanded through gritted teeth but Poe held firm.

“I hope someday you know the love I have for you, Armitage,” he began, “that inexplicable love that cannot be shaken nor shattered. The kind that rocks you to your very soul. And I hope, even more deeply, that you will know no peace from it. That the object of your affection will turn their face away and laugh at your breaking heart.”

Hux had never been kissed. Not even Peavey on that horrible night had the audacity to think he could he could place his lips on Hux’s.

Poe was his first and he kissed Hux like he knew it. It was incredibly chaste but Hux felt vulnerable under the touch. He realized in the simple gesture that Poe was imparting half a decade of pent up affection, that in his heart he knew this was the only intimate moment they would ever share. They would part and the war would come and, if they were lucky, they would live and marry. On some cold night they would look over to their mate and think of this moment. They would stare blankly at the form sleeping beside them and this memory would come as clear as day, this first and last kiss. It would go with them into their twilight years and be buried in the cold earth upon their deaths.

Poe pulled back, his honey gold eyes crystalized with tears.

“I hope you learn how it feels to have that love turn into cold, black hatred.”

He then simply turned and walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laissez les bons temps rouler! I have just returned from a weekend in New Orleans and I'm ready to get back into the action!

The ceremony was…predictable.

But blissfully short.

Hux stood beside Mitaka and half-listened as the officiant droned on. Tears glistened on Thanisson’s cheeks which prompted Sol Rivas to periodically halt the ceremony, so he could dab them away with a handkerchief.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Thanisson would sniffle, and the officiant would resume.

When it was all said and done, and the vows were made, and rings exchanged, Hux realized Thanisson was no longer Thanisson. He was now Thomas Rivas, his name a reflection of his new ownership.

Hux knew was best to keep his interpersonal thoughts on that to himself. No one wanted to hear about how society needed to move past looking at woman and Omegas as broodmares, that the changing of names was simply a way to mark them as property of their mate. Instead he played along and shared his congratulations with the new happy couple.

The small wedding party returned to the Rivas’s private suite for dinner, then white cake and wine.

There was no dancing, no Grand March or string quartet. A friend of Sol Rivas though did take the initiative to make use of the piano.

“No war songs!” Thomas warned, “I don’t want to hear about any Dixie or flags or soldiers tonight!”

“Buffalo girls, then!” The pianist declared, and all the room erupted with singing and laughter. Even Hux and Mitaka, with a little help from the wine, joined in.

_As I was walking down the street_   
_Down the street, down the street,_   
_A pretty gal I chance to meet_   
_Under the silvery moon._   
_Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight?_   
_Come out tonight, Come out tonight?_   
_Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight,_   
_And dance by the light of the moon!_

As the night wore on, Hux felt a warmth grow beneath his skin. He smiled and applauded for each of the toast Rivas’s friends prepared and joined in on tossing dry rice on the couple. The pianist never ran out of songs. For a moment, the war was forgotten. Only when Hux went to pour another glass of wine did he remember he was wearing the obnoxious little white gloves.

“Armitage?” Rivas approached him at one point, “Would it be all right if I spoke to you for a moment? In private?”

“If you wish.”

While the party continued on, Rivas led Hux out onto the balcony guarded with iron lace railing. The sun had just slipped under the horizon and the cool winds were quickly pushing indigo clouds across the sky. Orange-red dots, the bonfires from the camps, danced under the palm trees.

A chill ran down Hux’s spine. April was shaping up to be a cruel month.

“You have an incredible view,” Hux mused out loud and Rivas closed the balcony doors behind him, muffling the music.

“Good breeding has taught me to downplay any compliments but; yes, it is the finest place in Charleston to watch a sunset.” Rivas stepped up to the railing, “I am very lucky man, inheriting this hotel and being able to marry the love of my life within it’s walls.”

Hux glanced slightly through the glass panels of the balcony to see Thanisson chatting to one of the groomsmen.

“He is strangely untouched by his misfortune,” said Hux, “I have yet to decide if it makes him endearing or foolish.”

“He deserves a good life, to be loved and cared for. I meant every word of my vows today.”

“No one would doubt that.”

“Will I provide it though?” Rivas asked the sky, “What I would not give for us to have a simple life. There was a time that, like you, I dreaded the idea of marriage and a family. Now, I would give anything to know such simple joys without the ominous threat of war upon my doorstep. To keep Charleston just as it is now,” his eyes swept longingly at the peaceful scene before him, “under lock and key, forever and forever.”

“Such melancholy nonsense for a man on his wedding night.”

 “Thomas has no family,” Rivas continued, “and what family he had spent all they could to school him to be a proper Omega. It is my duty now as his husband to see that he is always cared for, no matter what this war might bring.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Hux said, a small sting of shame in the pit of his belly, “the Union might fold after this battle, the war might not even-”

“I know you are not so naïve,” Rivas interrupted with a tragic laugh, “the convictions of both the Union and the Confederacy cannot be rattled. This war will drag out until the land is nothing but bloodied fields and shallow graves. Armitage,” he turned, “Armitage Hux, please, if anything happens to me, swear on your life you will make sure Thomas and any child we might produce will be safe.”

“Why me?” Hux shook his head.

“Because I trust you,” said Rivas, eyes soft and pale in the light of the half-moon rising above the harbor. “Please, swear this to me.”

“Thanisson is my friend, I would never let anything happen to him,” Hux swallowed hard, “or his child.”

“Thank you.”

After some idle chatter, Rivas and Hux returned to the party as if nothing had happened.

Around ten, Thanisson began yawning and commenting on how it might be time to call it a night. The drunken groomsmen all nudged and smiled at Rivas as they left. Some, thinking they were whispering, slurred obscene suggestions in his ear.

“I am so glad you could have come,” Thanisson told his friends in a quiet circle. Hux and Mitaka assured him they would not have missed his wedding for the world.

“Have you stopped taking your suppressants?” Mitaka asked.

“A few days ago,” Thanisson said shyly, “I hope it’s not too late…we don’t have much time.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Hux forced out every ounce of sincerity he had, “you’re married now, right? Which means everything is supposed to be perfect.” The three Omegas shared a laugh and another round of farewells before parting.

“So then; shall we try and find a nightcap elsewhere?” Hux asked as he and Mitaka exited The Benedict.

“I think not, I’m out too late as it is.” Hux paused at this. Mitaka’s father was a successful doctor in Columbia, and as such paid to keep his son a townhome in Charleston so he might meet with the finest men South Carolina had to offer. For Mitaka, this meant he had no curfew save for the tentative ones placed upon Omegas that kept them respectable.

“Early morning?” Hux asked accusingly. “Did you go and enlist yourself?”

“Don’t be such a brat, Armitage,” said Mitaka, “I have indeed enlisted as a military nurse. My training begins tomorrow morning at Jefferson Hospital.”

 “I see; and where did this come from?”

“I’m twenty-two and unmated. What has my life been? I can speak Latin and play the harp but what does any of that mean?” Mitaka let out a frustrated sigh as they crossed the street toward the stables, “Like you, I was born an Omega, but I have no desire the play to part. I’ve just been going along with it all, waiting for some kind of sign, some kind of change and, perhaps with this war, that change has finally come.” He paused to look at his friend. “I’ll be saving lives, Armitage, really doing something with my life. I could even be sent out to the field which means they’d train me with a gun.”

 “Really?”

 “Join me,” Mitaka’s face broke into a smile, “we could go together! Leave Charleston and travel with the soldiers!”

“Maybe,” Hux shook his head, “I don’t know, I would need time to consider it.”

“Of course,” Mitaka reeled his excitement back, “tomorrow, after I finish training, I will send a letter to you and tell you what it was like.”

Hux felt ashamed that he thought of Ren in that moment, of the way he looked that morning when he tipped his hat and smiled beneath the brim.

“I don’t know,” Hux whispered, “perhaps I’ve had too much wine, my head is a bit fuzzy.”

“Then I will send the letter tomorrow and you can read it when you are well. Good night Armitage, safe journey home.”

“Good night, Mitaka.”

The day had felt so long.

As Hux lazily rode Allegretto through the streets, his mind turned over Poe’s strange parting words.

He had never considered the possibility that his aloofness might harm someone, though Hux stood by his assessment that the heart could not be forced in one direction or another. Poe only had himself to blame if her felt hurt, if he felt robbed of a life that only existed within his own imagination. Hux owed him nothing.

Across the harbor, the sails of the clipper ships moved like ghost in the corners of Hux’s sleepy eyes.

His thoughts wandered once more without permission to the swarthy Renault Solo. Hux found he rather liked the sound of Ren’s voice speaking French. _Au revoir,_ he liked the sight of his full lips forming the delicate words, the way they pouted around the vowels.

Allegretto knowingly headed down the port and the bridge that led to Johns Island. Crowds grew thin as the stale smell of bilge water being pumped from the ships permeated the air. Not even the hearty new enlistees dare set up camp at the docks. They traveled through the limited light from the ship lanterns, the hypnotic sound of rocking hulls and the clip-clop of Allegretto’s hooves began to make Hux’s eyelids feel heavy.

“Hey there sugah!” A barrel-chested man in a stained work shirt stepped out from the shadows. His lips were spotted black from tobacco chew. “Ain’t you a right pretty thang!”

“You lost, baby?” Allegretto jerked back as another man, this one hunched and sinewy came up beside her.

“Get out of my way!” Hux wanted to direct Allegretto to run, but she was so spooked he feared the slightest kick would cause her to buck and throw him. Gently, he began to try and walk her back, only to have a third man leap out from behind a stack of discarded cargo boxes and grab the mare’s reins.

 Hux was now fully awake but his reaction was too late. The hunched man grabbed his ankle and managed to pull it from the stirrup.

“Don’t be shy now! We just wanna talk to you a while!”

“Let go you bastard!” Hux managed to pull his foot free and smash it into the man’s face

“Feisty one, eh?” The barrel-chested man laughed.

Hux struggled to get his foot back in the stirrup as the men began playing tug-o-war with Allegretto’s reins. His center of gravity was quickly shifting and before Hux knew it, he was colliding with the cold, wet cobblestone.

“Hold the nag back!” The barrel-chested man commanded. “Amos!” He waved for the hunched man to join him. “Shut him up!”

 “Get off me!” Hux shouted, kicking and thrashing as the attackers grabbed at him. “Get off, now!”

A grey rag that tasted of tobacco and filth was shoved into his mouth. Hux gagged as it was packed deep into the back of his throat. He had no choice but to draw air though his nose in panicked, uneven snuffles.

“We gonna be a good boy?” Hux turned as he heard the click of a switchblade, eyes going wide as the man called Amos held a six-inch blade to his cheek. A jack-o-lantern smile was spread wide across his face. “No more fussin’, a’ight?”

Hux forced himself to still, though a rush of adrenaline was still causing his hands to shake.

Amos put the blade away and crouched down behind Hux’s head, pulling Hux’s arms back and pinning them down on the ground at the wrist.

“I’m havin’ the first go,” the barrel-chested man began to undo his pants. “Keep him there.”

Hux wanted to cry at the sight of the mans matted black pubic hair. Even with the dirty rag in his mouth, he could smell the unwashed flesh, the weeks of sweat and sex that had built up there. The dark foreskin that covered his penis looked sore, almost swollen. Hux realized this man must have only ever found comfort in the arms of women and men who charged for it.

“If only he wouldn’t scream,” the man said, beginning to stroke himself, “I’d love to make use of that pretty little mouth.”

Disgust took over and Hux vomited up some of the wine. It mingled with the rag before sliding, burning its way back down his throat, causing him to cough uncontrollably. He began to twist in Amos’s grip, but the man just squeezed his wrist and whispered throaty threats about slicing Hux open like a pig.

“Bodies stay warm for a lil’ bit after they’s dead! We still gonna git our fun!”

Gunfire cracked, echoing through the night.

The laughter of the men fell silent, not even Allegretto let out a single cry.

“Leave!”

Hux knew that voice.

It was Ren, _it was Ren_. Tears ran down Hux’s cheeks.

 “It’s that Cap’tan from Naw-Lans,” Amos hissed as he jumped up onto his feet, releasing his grip on Hux. Hux immediately rolled over and hacked up the rag.

 “Let’s git, boys!” The barrel-chested man commanded. Allegretto let out a whinny and stomped her hooves as her reins were released. Footsteps hastened into the night.

Hux could hardly focus on what was happening. Though relieved to have the rag out of his mouth, he was still unable to draw a sustaining breath. His throat was raw from the bile and his legs and arms were beginning to tingle with numbness.

He thought of Brendol straddling him, hands squeezing like a vice on Hux’s throat. Panic took over. The numbness began to spread.

“Breathe,” Hux felt arms pull him up, “breathe,” the single word was coming in a slow and steady cadence, “breathe…”

Each time Ren spoke, Hux drew a breath, causing the tingling to ebb.

“Thank…,” Hux’s words were faint, “Thank you…” Black spun around him and Hux felt his body enveloped in warmth. Ren had wrapped him up in his cape.

The Zouave’s eyes were darting balefully around the docks as if daring someone else to come challenge him.

“How did you know?” Hux asked.

“That’s the second attack I’ve broken up this week!” Ren said, still scanning the shadows to make sure they were safe.

“You’d warned me,” Hux said, suddenly feeling ashamed. Ren had told him just that morning to employ caution, and what did he do? Wander out to the most dangerous part of Charleston after _dark_ , so drunk he only now remembered the shaving blade in his bag.

More tears began to fall. Hot and salty, they collected on Hux’s trembling lips.

Brendol shifted in his mind, the misshapen man became the creeping shadow of Edrison Peavey. How easily he had lured Hux away from the safety of the party. There had not been a single shadow of concern when Peavey had closed the door behind them. Hux was a foolish little Omega, just ripe for the picking.

“I’m so stupid,” he said, almost to no one, “I’m so...bloody stupid…”

“No,” Ren assured him, wiping away from of the tears with his leather clad hand. “I think you’re tired and might have had too much to drink at the wedding…,” he gently nudged Hux’s chin up so their eyes could meet. “But you’re not stupid, Hux. Never let the actions of others define you, especially rabid dogs like that! Let weak men embolden you to rise above.”

“Easy for an Alpha to say,” Hux whispered.

“It is easy for us to say,” said Ren, “and harder for an Omega to do. But, you’re not just any Omega, are you, Armitage Hux?”

“I like to pretend I’m not,” Hux attempted a small smile. Ren sighed.

“The hour is late; it might be best to forgo any attempts to Johns Island.”

“My father- ”

“The man who did this?” Ren’s fingers gently grazed Hux’s neck. Hux shivered at the touch. “Left bruises where none should be? Some of the local soldiers have talked of him, Poe said he wanted to break you like a horse. Honestly, I don’t give a damn about what a man like him thinks. And if he hurts you like that again,” Ren’s eyes became like glass, like those of a wild animal focused on a kill, “ _my father_ taught me a few ways to deal with unsavory characters.”  

“Ren,” Hux breathed his simple name. “I…”

“We can make up a suitable lie in the morning,” Ren said, getting to his feet, his six-shooter now obvious on his hip. “Tonight, you will stay with me at The Benedict.”

A small, playful spark lit up inside Hux.

“People will talk,” he said with mock concern, “you’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Honestly, I think you would like a ruined reputation,” Ren held out his hand to help Hux to his feet. Hux struggled a bit under the weight and restriction of the long cape. “You saved my life once,” Ren continued in a quieter tone, “brought me to the safety of that farm and saw I that I was kept warm. Now, it is my turn to do the same.”

“But it’s not the same; you didn’t know if one of those men had a gun. They could have killed the both of us.” Ren shook his head.

“Men like that are cowards, that’s why they hide here. That’s why they attack Omegas and ruin their gloves.” Hux looked down at his hands. Indeed, his white gloves were miserably. With a frustrated huff, Hux pulled the gloves off and threw them into a puddle of stagnant grey water. Ren could not help a small laugh.

“And after all I did to return them to you!”

“Hush! Let’s get out of here!”

Ren fixed Allegretto’s reins to the Percheron’s saddle horn before hoisting Hux up into the seat.

“I can ride my own horse,” Hux weakly protested but Ren did not respond as he pulled himself up, situating himself in front of Hux in the saddle. “And I know my way back to the hotel.”

“Hold on,” Ren instructed flatly.

“To what?” With a huff, Ren reached around and pulled Hux’s arms forward to wrap them around his waist.  

“ _Putain!_ ” He growled, hitching the reins on the Percheron, “ _J’en ai marre de ce mec_!”

Ren dropped Hux off at The Benedict with his key while he brought his Percheron, who Hux learned was named Tuanul, and Allegretto to the army stables.

Everything was quiet within the hotel. The staff had long since gone to sleep, the lamps had been turned down low. With graceful steps, Hux made his way past the third floor where Rivas and Thanisson resided and up to the fourth and final floor where the two opulent private suites were located. Hux checked the key; 2A, located the right door and let himself in.

The suite had been turned into a veritable battle station. Every available surface was covered with maps, photographs, letters and a fair amount of empty wine bottles. Chicken scratch notes could be found sprawled over each page. The hand-picked accents of the room, the chinoiserie and cherrywood tables made from local trees farms, disappeared in the chaos.

 Hux knew he should not look through Ren’s things, but he found himself utterly transfixed with the sight. It was like a glimpse into the future. Everything the war was to bring was spread out before him. As Hux flipped through the maps, he came across one that looked like Charleston; an endless layering of rivers and islands. He was shocked to find it was the southern tip of Louisiana and, among the rivers winding like a pit of blue snakes, was New Orleans. It looked so vulnerable on its little crescent, even with two forts marked in black ink on each side of the Mississippi delta.

 “Any suggestions, General Hux?” Hux looked up to see Ren closing the room door behind him.

“At ease Captain,” he fought against the smile forming on his lips. “Are these all planed attacks?”

“Planned and anticipated.” Hux ran his finger along the length of the Mississippi River and tapped at New Orleans upon the southern tip.

“We’d be doomed if they ever take it.”

“You think?” Ren came around the table and stood beside Hux, seeming to anticipate further explanation.

“We have no industry here, not anything that would win us any wars. Our dependence of foreign steels is our major foil. If the Union blocks the southern harbors, then the game is over. Likewise, in order for us to win, we have to cripple their production capabilities.” Hux could feel Ren’s eyes upon him but he coolly shrugged them off. “It’s not terribly complicated.”

“Do you feel Union blockades will prove challenging?”

“I don’t know,” Hux smirked at him, “is it true they’re developing underwater warfare technology in New Orleans?” Ren’s expression went wide with shock.

“Word does travel…”

“I hear Union armies are attempting to build one themselves, a fish-boat or whatever they’re calling it, but we need it more than they do. Our win hinges on it.”

“Try telling that to our men,” Ren scoffed, reaching up to remove his cape from Hux’s shoulders, “all they want is bloody glory. To crush the enemy with their bare hands.”

“We’re not fighters,” Hux said somberly, “we’re not even farmers, really. Look at any plantation owner’s hand; lily white and soft of silk. I don’t care what anyone says, they’re sending thick-skulled brutes like those three we met to die for their right to keep slaves.”

“You’re quite knowledgeable about this war,” Ren walked away from the table, folding up the cape and taking it to the closet. “How did that come to pass?”

“I listen,” said Hux, “when I’m at galas or balls, I pretend to be talking about superficial nonsense with my friends, but I keep an ear to the ground.” Hux released the papers in his hand, suddenly feeling burden with his knowledge. “I may be English born and reside on a lonely river island, but Charleston is home to me. Rivas mentioned something tonight about wars making one sentimental…”

“He’s not wrong,” said Ren. “I used to hate New Orleans as a child, mostly because my mother hated it. The city smells foul and yellow-fever runs rampant every summer. Worst of all, my father was always leaving us there for one of his grand adventures. When he died, my mother packed up for Europe, but I found I could not join her. Rumors of the war were growing, and we all knew the north would take aim at us. I felt an incredible urge to protect my city, as undeserving as it might be. For better or worse, New Orleans is my home.”

“I think that,” Hux began, but a cavernous yawn broke into his words.

“Stars, you must be exhausted. Here,” Ren returned from the closet with a linen sleep shirt. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable in the bed.”

“Ren-”

“I have only slept in it once. More often I fall asleep here with my work,” he gestured to a small chaise lounge that was only half of the man’s height. Hux thought to say something but he found himself understanding of Ren’s plight. Had he been in the man’s shoes, the lives of thousands and the fate of a war on his shoulders, sleep for himself might be an afterthought.

“Rest with me,” Hux said, “it’s a large bed and I don’t mind.” He smiled, “We slept side-by-side once before and the world did not come crashing down.”

Hux could see in Ren’s eyes that his mind was searching, trying to find a solid argument against his request but nothing came of it. The Zouave just stood slack-jawed before him, hair flat and limp and posture slump.

“Come,” Hux said with a patronizing sigh as he took the sleep shirt from Ren’s hands, “dress for bed and I will do the same. We both need and deserve a good night’s rest.”

“No,” Ren said suddenly, “you will sleep in the bed. I will sleep here.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” said Ren, using that same unquestioning tone from the docks. “I respect you, Armitage and as such I will let you be.”

“As you wish,” Hux said quietly. That particular choice of words demanded that they not be questioned.

“I’m not trying to be cruel,” Ren quickly added, “I just don’t think it should be this way between us.”

“Why are you talking to cryptically?” Hux knew he sounded like a spoiled child, ready to stomp his feet and throw himself to the ground. “You’re talking to me like an Alpha would a silly little Omega and I absolutely loathe that! There is nothing more insulting to me that someone not using plain language!”

Ren moved so fast Hux did not have a moment to think.

For twenty-two years, Armitage Hux remained the unkissed rose of Johns Island. Now, in a single day in April, he had been kissed by two Confederate Captains in The Benedict Hotel of Charleston.

Ren’s lips were still a little cold from the night but Hux found himself obsessed with the challenge of warming them up. Their touch was that of a luxe satin, something meant only for a privileged few. Hux wanted to just sink into the feel and melt away.

Ren grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close and Hux broke their kiss with a shuddering gasp.

“Is this plain enough?” Ren asked.

Hux nodded. Beneath Ren’s pants he could feel a firm erection being pressed against his leg. In his limited experience with other men’s penises, Hux could say Ren’s was certainly the largest. Such knowledge did not frighten though. Hux found himself wanting to see it, wanting to _touch_ it…

“Ren,” Hux gasped as the solider suddenly buried his nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply of the scent there. “Ren…Renault…”

As quickly as he approached, Ren shoved Hux backwards, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Satisfied?” He asked. Hux just nodded sheepishly. “Good, go to bed.”

Hux was surprised with how quickly sleep took him.


	7. Chapter 7

Hux woke to trumpet reverie and aching limbs.

“Good morning,” his eyes blinked wearily at the greeting. Pale light poured through the small breaks in the curtains, drawing long lines across the floor, the wall and Ren’s face. The man was sitting in a chair near the bed, glancing over some papers in his hand. The light fell perfectly on his scar.  

“What time is it?” Hux heard his voice crack.

“Six,” Ren said sympathetically, “early, I know, but it’s best we get you fed and dressed and on the road.” Hux felt a sting of indignation as Ren spoke of him like a small child. But the Captain was right; if anyone saw him walking out of The Benedict with Ren, the consequence could be far reaching. Even without mating, the mere illusion that he might be stepping outside social norms would have devastating effects. Hux himself cared little for his reputation around Charleston, especially in regard to Renault Solo. It was how Brendol would handle the rumor that made his stomach sink.  

“Is there coffee?” Hux asked as he pushed himself up with a groan. It felt more as though he had been dropped four stories as opposed to the four feet from his saddle. Riding Allegretto back to Arkanis Hall was going to be brutal.

“I can have the porter bring a new pot.”

“Thank you.” Hux dropped himself back into the pillows. He found himself smiling as he listened to Ren’s deadpan tone list off an order to the porter; fresh coffee with milk and sugar, warm pastries and bacon and whatever fresh fruits were available. Bring it all; and be quick about it!

Ren then went to the windows and began to draw aside the curtains. Dawn was breaking beneath low clouds. Crescendos of water fowl sliced their way through the grey, out to the harbor, out to the fort.

“While we wait for the food, why don’t you select a new coat for yourself from my closet,” said Ren, “bad enough you are without your gloves, you do not need to be seen in your clothes from last night.”

“That’s actually not a terrible idea.”

“They’re all black,” Ren smirked at him, “I hope that will not offend your sensibilities.”

Ren was not joking, the deep wardrobe The Benedict provided was stuffed from end to end with black coats. Hux wondered how well received Renault Solo must have been in New Orleans, haunting the streets like a specter of death in his dark garb. For himself, he managed to find a longer great coat with a high collar that might aid in hiding his identity in the event he did run into someone he knew.

Breakfast arrived, smelling sweet and savory. The porter poured out their cups as they piled their respective fine china plates with food.

“The Army has erected makeshift stables in City Hall Park,” Ren said, half-way through the meal, “your horse is there, stabled with mine. I think the best plan would be for us to leave separately with you slipping out the back bar.”

“And why must I go out the back?”

“Because, between the two of us, I am the only one who is supposed to be here.” Ren tilted his head, as if looking for a slight shift in Hux’s demeanor. “I know you want to argue with me about this, but I am right.”

“Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Ren snorted a small laugh.

“You are such a delight.”

The Benedict was bustling with morning activity. Hux tucked his bare hands into his pockets as he ducked his head and headed into the crowd. To his surprise, the quickly moving officers and soldiers nodded to him as he pushed past. Hux felt his heart flutter with each acknowledging gesture. For a moment he could slip into the fantasy that he was part of the Charleston Army camp, part of the excitement and comradery that only the looming threat of war could bring.

A shiver went through Hux as he stepped out onto the street. Ren’s coat was certainly more for style than purpose.

“Higher, the right side! Pull it up, pull it up!” Hux spun sharply around to see where all the shouting was coming from. On the roof of a large bank, a group of men were haphazardly dragging a banner up over the lower eaves. The bottom looked as it were stripped, red and white, akin to the Federal flag, but it was sorely short a few bars.

“Hold men!” Again, Hux’s attention was drawn by sudden shouting. A great procession of cadets awkwardly came to a halt, tripping over one another and losing their caps. “Damnation! Pay attention!” A man, slightly more decorated than the newly enlisted cadets, began to scold them. “That’s a Captain there!”

The man pointed to Renault Solo, stepping off the front steps of The Benedict. His black cape, secured once more with the wolf head pin, billowed out like the powerful mainsail of a battle-hardened ship. He strode with an unquestionable confidence, only giving a slight nod to the cadets saluting him with awe.

“Captain Solo,” the man nodded back.

Blood rushed to Hux’s cheeks, a harsh contrast to the chilly morning air. He found himself smiling uncontrollably once more as he came to discover what it was that Ren possessed that so many of the limp and spineless beaus trotted out before him had lacked; power. Even without the title of Captain of the Zouave’s, Ren commanded it. He did not use the prestige of his mother nor the fame of his father to gain standing. In leather boots he treaded fearlessly above the superficial minutia of society life, building for himself the image he wanted, not what others expected of him. Such defiance was true power in Armitage Hux’s book.

And Hux ached to be at his side. A true ache, deep in his bones. Not that momentary flash of heat and shame he would feel when watching those shirtless men with his friends on the docks. The want inside Hux were more pure, more simple that those of the fleeting carnal variety.

“What are you doing?” Ren angrily rasped as he approached Hux, “I told you to meet me at the stables!”

“Adjust your tone!” Hux fired back, squaring his shoulders, “I am neither your child nor your mate, therefore you will not speak to me as such!” He waited as Ren’s signature vapid expression settled on his face, complete with the slow separation of his bottom lip from the top. “That requires an apology.”

“I’m sorry,” life sparked back into Ren’s eyes, “I suppose I forgot whose presence I was in.”

Hux internally dismissed Ren’s sarcastic tone.

“If you must know; it seems that they might be raising the new flag above the National Trust. I was just curious what arbitrary piece of fabric I would be pledging my allegiance too next.” Hux flitted his eyes slightly upward, wordlessly directing Ren to do the same.

“Stars,” Ren muttered as the men unfurled the banner over the edge of the eaves. A small crowd began to form around them.

The number of stars had been brought down to seven, the bars three. Hush words of excitement moved through the onlookers. There had been no official word on what the new flag was to be, but for now, the men of Charleston, South Carolina would have a banner over their heads as they charged Fort Sumter.

Hux turned up his nose.

“It’s an ugly flag,” and walked away. Ren was quick to follow.

Their breath came out in white little puffs, quickly dissipating in the budding light. Groups of men were pulling cannon down to the clipper ships lining the harbor. Mule drawn carts piled high with ammunition and draped in burlap passed them by the dozens.

“How soon will the attack be?” Hux could not help to ask.

“There are two large steam sloops heading out from Boston down to Hampton Roads. They carry only soldiers, no food or supplies for the fort. We estimate they will be here the eleventh, maybe a bit later.” Ren spoke in a curt tone, eyes forward as they pushed through the crowd. Hux wondered if he was getting a true glimpse of Captain Solo, the no-nonsense Zouave, the one known as _Mon Pere_ or ‘my father’ to his men.

Ren stopped suddenly.

 “I suggest you stay far away from the city,” he said quietly, “and I suggest you heed my warning this time. No one can anticipate what will happen after those first shots are fired. Rivas might even approach you to shelter his new bride if the battle makes landfall.”

Hux instinctively bristled at this, but he knew Ren was right; Charleston was not built for war, nor were her elegant denizens. Hux’s skills as a turkey sniper had no place in a battle fought with cannon fire and bayonets.

“I will stay away. But, warn every damn Yankee you see to stay away from John’s Island, less he wants to go home in a box.”

Ren’s full lips tugged at a quick smile.

City Hall Park, like any park in Charleston, was a tidy little patch of grass to stroll upon. The canopies of live oak trees dressed in their Spanish moss made it ideal for lounging around on hot summer days. It was here Hux had his first drink at all of twelve years when he stole a bottle of sherry wine from a local shop and ran to meet Thanisson and Mitaka around the back of the stately city hall building. They spent the afternoon passing the bottle around, before sneaking into the Logan Street Theater House during a rehearsal and falling asleep in the plush balcony seats.

 The park looked nothing like that wonderful memory. All the green was gone, replaced with muddied paths worn down with hooves and boots. Filthy, unshaven men stomped carelessly through the space, exhibiting no regard for the lovely jewel the park had been.

Ren headed down to a set of lean-to structures that Hux soon realized were meant to be the stables. Beside them on a little stool was a young dark-skinned boy, maybe only six or seven years old, with a little wool cap.

“ _Koman ou ye, Fabián?_ ” Ren asked him as they approached

 _“Mwen byen,”_ the boy shrugged, his oversized work-shirt falling from his shoulder. With one hand he tugged it back up, the other he held out with an open palm.

“Of course,” Ren sighed and pulled a coin from his pocket to give the boy.

“ _Mesi_!” The boy happily shoved the coin in his pocket and hopped down from his stool. “ _Suiv mwen_!” He excitedly waved for the men to follow him.

“Was that French?” Hux asked.

“Haitian-Creole,” said Ren, jerking his head for Hux to follow. “Little bit of French, little Spanish, West African…” Hux realized for the first time he could not place Ren’s ancestry. Ren had told the strange fib (as it most certainly was) about being related to Marie Antoinette, and his sur name was derived from the Latin _solus_ which meant his father was connected to one of the five Romance Languages. Ren’s hair was raven black and thick as Allegretto’s mane. His olive skin spoke of summers in the Mediterranean, the restless scar like a mixture of Oriental spices, turmeric and saffron. There was nothing in Ren’s voice that betrayed him as a Louisianan, or southerner for that matter.

He was a man that could have come from anywhere, and, if he so chose, could disappear as quickly as he had arrived.

There was definitely pirate in his blood.

 “ _Isit_!” The boy pointed to a stable at the end. Hux nearly gasped how small his lovely black mare beside the beastly Percheron.

“ _Mesi!_ ” Ren yelled after the boy as he ran off to meet some of his friends, holding up his new coin for them to awe over. “I’m sorry no one was here last night to unsaddle your horse. Doesn’t look like she got in to too much trouble.”

“Allegretto’s a good girl,” Hux said, patting his mare on her muzzle. Allegretto happily snorted and huffed at Hux’s hair. “She knows not to roll if she’s saddled.” Hux glanced over his shoulder, watching Fabian and his friend chase each other out into the park center. “I suppose I ought to thank you again for last night,” he said softly, “ _Messi_.”

“ _Pa dekwa_ ; very good. You catch on quickly.”

Hux took a step closer to Ren.

“Would you take me sometimes, to New Orleans? Maybe when this fool war is over.”

“You would not like it…”

 “And how would you know? You don’t even know what I like!”

“Stop talking like that…,” Ren drew deep, calming breaths through his nostrils. “Stars, Hux, we’re in public.”

Hux’s eyes darted around one last time, making certain they were alone before grabbing Ren by the hand and pulling him under the covering of the makeshift stable. It was not ideal; the smell of horse dander and hay and manure was all around. The agitated mules in the next pen over began to bray.

But it was all they had.

“Give me another excuse, I dare you.” Hux wrapped his arms around the waist of the stunned Captain.

“If it were another place,” Ren shook his head and licked his lips. His words trembled with uncertainty, “Another time. A thousand years from now…”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Hux cried, “We are here, and we are now! And I will not take any speculation about ourselves elsewhere in time as a reason to back down!”

“It’s not speculation but reality. You and I were dealt poor hands; a passionate Omega, relentless in his pursuits. And I, a misguided solider, who isn’t completely certain what he’s fighting for.”

Hux narrowed his sea-green eyes.

 “Then let me give you something to fight for.”

The second kiss was even better. Hux relished in the feeling of Ren tensing beneath him and then slowly unwinding enough to fall back against the wall of the stable. Even as the structure made some noises of distress, uncertain if it could hold their weight, Hux continued to push. There was a knowledge that this might be his only chance, his last chance to kiss Renault Solo the way he wanted to kiss him. Ren barely knew how to react and just became a pliable set of lips to feed Hux’s relentless hunger.

 “You can’t do this,” Ren finally had to break for air, through with each heaving breath he dropped his head to steal a few more chaste kisses, “you can’t…you can’t…you can’t…”

“If there’s one thing I would have anticipated you learning about me by now, it’s that I loathe being told what not to do.”

Ren made a breathless laugh.

“Even more so if I tell you it’s for your own good.”

Hux took a step back, he too needing to break from the heady rush.

“I’m not like these ninny-headed little hens running around here,” he finally said, “tying themselves down to the first man who gives them a glance. I don’t want to be a war bride.”

“And what do you want, Armitage Hux?”

“I,” Hux began but could not finish. Everything inside him became warm and soft and deep, like the plush bedding back at The Benedict. “All I ever wanted was for someone to ask me that,” was the only honest answer he could find.

Ren drew Hux in close, burying his nose in his hair.

 “You need to go; the more you linger, the more people will talk.”

“When will I see you again?” Hux knew he sounded like a spoiled child but that was how Ren made him feel; needy and unwilling to compromise.

“I don’t know,” Ren said quietly, pulling away, “I told you, Charleston is dangerous…” He swallowed hard, looking away as if to make certain they were still hidden from the bustling crowds. “I want to wake to you in my bed every morning. I want to have coffee with you and watch you rest your head in your hands and listen to you scold me. Understand, when I tell you to stay on Johns Island, I am saying it in order to protect you.”

“I know.”

“You are worth fighting for.” Ren took Hux’s face in his hands, fingers in his hair, thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. “So, keep fighting for yourself.”

There was one last kiss on his lips and then Hux felt Ren pull away, leaving him feeling cold and hollow.

“ _Au revoir_ ,” the Captain said. He then turned, his cape sweeping around and concealing his form.

Hux could not bring himself to watch Ren walk away. He wanted to remember how he looked coming to him, down the front steps of The Benedict. How the whole world stopped for Renault Solo, and how all Renault Solo wanted was him.  

Hux knew he could not allow himself to get lost in swooning. Such a thing was other Omegas, not him. The day was young and there was still a long ride ahead of him.

“Ready to head home girl?” Hux was surprised to hear the sadness in his voice. Allegretto gave him a little nudge with her muzzle.

“Aye,” he brought his forehead to meet hers. “Come on, let’s get going then.”

* * *

 

Ren glanced around the busy park, attempting to look as nonchalant as he could. His stealthies was not needed though as it seemed no one had taken interest. With the attack only a week away, every able-bodied man in Charleston was focused on protecting the city from the arrival of Union troops. For many, it was their first time away from the generational land, the only home they had known. They had lived watching the sun rise as set on the same set of hills their parents did. War to them was a chance to escape the drudgery of tradition. They were slow-witted but eager to please. Most of the officers were happy to have them in their ranks.

It did not take Ren long to realize it was not the distant cadets and privates he had to worry about. They were not as well versed in the traditions of Charleston society. His concern lay with someone whose childhood was deeply run through with the smell of the sea air and the rattle of the wind through the palmettos. Someone whose eyes could read the subtle tells of intimacy between well-bred elites.

Ren did not want to think about what must have driven Poe Dameron to the Yavin Saloon; the run down hole-in-the-wall where most of the soldiers went to find a hot meal and company. The kind of company that did not ask questions, that always smiled and smelled like jasmine and honey. No doubt his years in the territories were lonely. The isolation must have been maddening. There was also the horrible reality of finally coming home, returning to the place you know best - only to find it teetering on the precipice of war.

And then there was Armitage Hux.

There was little doubt that Hux had blossomed wonderfully in the four years Poe was away. The last of his teenage gawkiness finally corrected itself, like a ship hitting its course after a torrential storm. Hux had most likely stumbled with all the elegance of a newborn foal when his legs hit their growth spurts. Ren himself had experiences such struggled with his own height. Now, Hux walked with a hypnotic fluidity. His freckles had faded into the forgivable flecks in a fine cut of alabaster stone. He was now a young man, a rose in full bloom…

Ren weaved his way through Chalmers Street where the old brick building sat. From the corner of his eye, Ren could see The Exchange sitting quietly in the colorless light of the morning. That ill-fated building where he first saw Hux sitting by the fire, looking so bored and so beautiful all at once.

“There’s a dungeon in the basement,” Poe said loudly from where he stood on the Yavin Saloon’s porch, leaning a support beam as he puffed on his pipe. His dark eyes landed on Ren as he emerged from the crowd. “It’s considered impolite to call it that these days, since that’s where they hold the slaves now for auction. And we certain wouldn’t want to imply they’re being mistreated! But that’s what it was, a dungeon built by the British to hold prisoners of war. Thought perhaps you ought to be made aware of it. Might come in handy the in next week or so.”

“I have heard a rumor or two about that,” Ren said, stepping on to the porch. “Tell me, Captain Dameron; how does the morning find you?”

“It finds me well,” Poe once more puffed on his pipe, grey smoke exiting alongside his words as he spoke. “Though I think it favors you more.”

Ren could not help a small chuckle, nodding at the other man’s bold words.

“The thing I have always admired about you is that, unlike most southern men, you have a tendency to speak without restraint. I suppose it’s safe to say that all your gentility was lost out there in the wild western territories, and good riddance. I was received by all the finest families in New Orleans thanks to my mother’s pedigree, but their ostentation got in the way of direct conversation.”

Poe sighed as he turned away.

“Did you lie with him?”

“No,” Ren said quickly, “we both know if I had, sending him home to his father would be a death sentence.”

“Do you plan to?”

“The wild rose seems to have developed a little infatuation with me,” Ren scoffed, trying to throw Poe off the scent. “I rescued him from a group of soldiers with ill intent near the docks and brought him to my room to sleep and get a good meal. Give him a day of so, and the glow around me will wane.”

Ren waited patiently for Poe to come back to life; to see his eyes light up and his toothy, winsome smile dance across his face. But despite Ren’s efforts to downplay his encounter with Hux, the man was still deeply wounded. The simple idea that anyone, even for the most fleeting moment could hold Hux’s heart…broke his.

“You’re still in love with him,” said Ren.

“No,” Poe shook his head, “I’ve come to accept I’m merely in love with the memory of him; in love with the idea of what we could have been.” For a moment Poe was quiet, as if wandering through that garden of dreams. Playing out each what-if in his mind, picturing how their children might have looked. Even Ren had to admit they would have been a good match.

“He’ll haunt you, you know,” Poe said suddenly, softly. “You’ll dream of him. Dreams so vivid you’ll wake thinking he will be there in your arms…but he’s not, he never is. It’s just you, cold and alone in a big empty bed.” He looked Ren dead in the eyes. “That’s what Armitage Hux does to a man.”

“I do not deny that.”

“I have often wished he could feel a fraction of the cold sting he inflicts on other men. To know what it would be like to fall hopelessly in love with something that could never love you back because,” Poe paused, seeming to be startled by his own revelation, “it doesn’t understand what love is.”

“He only ever had two choices in life; fall in line and marry a man of good stock and make pups. Or, build a wall so deep and thick that no man could ever save him.” Ren shook his head, “Truth be told, I cannot fault his decision.”

“Nor I,” said Poe “as much as it hurts to admit. I would have been good to him though. I respected Armitage as deeply as I loved him. But such things cannot be understood inside his little fortress.”

Ren made a noncommittal grunt.

“For his sake, and mine as well, I ask you keep this encounter a secret. I know you have been spurned but such information would be incredibly harmful to Hux.”

“Our world is not kind to people like him,” was all Poe said. Ren waited for more but more never came, so he nodded his head and wished Poe a good day.

* * *

 

From the moment Hux rode up to the circle driveway of Arkanis Hall he could hear Brendol ranting from inside. Tired and sore as he was, Hux considered taking Allegretto out to the Erso farm for the day, but his mare needed to have her saddle removed and be indulged with sugar cubes. There was also the guilt of having left poor Sloan alone to contend with his father while he spent the night, sans permission, in Charleston. Brendol was not above transferring any frustration he felt over his son to his house slave.

Hux took Allegretto down to the stables, removed her saddle and brushed her out.

“I promise, I’ll come back later and bring you something sweeter,” he said, filling her trough with fresh alfalfa hay. Alkazar whined and threw back his head. “And some sugar cubes for you too, you big baby!”

As always, Hux entered through the back of the house, walking right into the kitchen. He was surprised to see the same sort assortment laid out from when Peavey had come calling, along with some fresh coffee. From the receiving room, Hux could hear his father’s bellowing wails, punctuated with a soft but firm Englishman’s voice. Peavey had a tendency to be a bit of sycophant when Brendol was in such moods, now clear to Hux that such placation had been a way to stay in Brendol’s good graces so he could maintain access to the man’s son.

Curiosity got the best of Hux and began to venture toward the front of the house, creeping through he halls with tender steps as he attempted the place the voice.

 “I had the chance to send him abroad! My own alma mater offered him a spot!” Hux groaned inwardly as he remembered the long summer of Brendol threatening to send him off to London to finish his schooling.

“You know that would have been disastrous. That boy of yours is too spirited. Putting a whole ocean between you and him would have been the worst decision. As fine an institution as Harrow School is, I admire their legacy, Armitage would have quickly fallen in with a pack of other spoiled little terrors and found himself on the outs. You would have spent a fortune just trying to extract him back here.”

Hux halted right outside the receiving room, the voice of Colonel Tarkin was now clear as a bell.

“Aye, Wilhuff…”

“It’s your own bloody fault, Brendol! If you had only listened to me that night,” Colonel Tarkin made a noise of disgust, “a mangey prostitute, I could not believe it. I’m surprised your knob did not rot and fall off!”

Any excitement Hux felt about the Colonel coming to visit quickly slipped away. Hux struggled to create a dichotomy in regard to his mother. She was a whore, that was not something ever kept secret to him. But she was also his mother; his body had been formed within her, half her blood ran through his veins. She was both wretched and wonderful, which made Tarkin’s words both true and hurtful.

 “Do ya think I don’t know that? That woman was the worse damn thing that ever happened to me.”

“I’ll never forget when she brought that anemic little creature, too weak to even cry, wrapped in filthy rags. Aye, it was yours though! That red hair and scowling lips! And what did I tell you to do with it?” Hux waited with bated breath to hear his father’s response.

“Get rid of it,” Brendol said quietly, “tuck a stone in the swaddling, drop it in the Thames and never speak of the little bastard again.”

Silence followed.

Hux threw a hand over his mouth, trying to catch his heaving, wet breaths but everything came bubbling up inside him so quickly there was no way to stop it. His legs began to shake and Hux fell against the wall with an echoing thud.

“Sloan?” Brendol called, “Is that you, girl?”

Hux collected himself enough to stand and wipe the tears away. His legs still wobbled but he walked into the arched entry of the receiving room to meet the two men casually discussing their previous plot to kill him.

There was no shame in Tarkin’s cold stare.

“Stars boy, where have you been?” Brendol roared.

“Really?” Hux asked with a small laugh, new tears forming in his eyes. “Are you really going to pretend like you care? After what I just heard?”

“Show some respect!” Tarkin stood from where he had been seated in one of the pale green wing back chairs. “After all the time and money he has invested in you? I am certain he does care.” He slinked up beside Brendol, keeping his eyes on Hux as he loudly whispered: “Look at him; he’s spent the night cavorting around Charleston, returning brazenly without any gloves. An absolute disgrace. But what did I tell you? You cannot breed that sort of behavior out of them.”

 “I did no such thing!” Hux cried. “And how dare you come into this house and speak of me this way! You hateful, foul old man! To think I ever respected you!”

“That is enough, Armitage!” Brendol yelled so loud, the figurines on the mantle rattled. “Go to your room!”

“I am not a child and I will not-”

“Go to your room or I will shoot that bloody nag of yours!”

Hux froze, uncertain what to do next. Brendol had made such roundabout threats before, but the wild look in his eye told Hux that Allegretto’s life was now in serious danger.

“What is all the yelling about?” Sloan came up beside Hux, “Armitage! When did you-?”

 “Take him out of my sight!” Brendol waved his hand as he turned to the drink cart. “I cannot stand to look at his ungrateful face any longer!”

“Brendol,” Sloan began.

“I said now!”

Hux felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Come,” said Sloan, “let’s get you upstairs then.” Hux nodded numbly and turned to follow her. As he left, he could hear Tarkin’s voice:

“He will learn, one way or another. The only thing he had control over is how difficult this process is going to be…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm been spelling Sloan's name wrong all this time...there's a frickin' 'e' at the end of her name. 
> 
> On the topic of names, don't ask me why I picked Cindel. It just happened. 
> 
> Also, kudos and comments are much loved! Thanks to everyone who had read so far!

A light rain pattered on the window.

Wordlessly, Hux toed off his boots and settled on the deep sill across from his bed. His expression was pensive, like a young poet looking for inspiration in the mist rolling down from the heavens and over the distant hills. The grey skies had seeped into his eyes, coloring the irises in the same melancholy hue.

“Are you all right?” Sloan asked, taking a seat across from him. Hux squirmed a bit, his lips pursing then parting, trying to form to form the right answer.

“I’ve just never understood why he brought me here,” was what Hux settled on. “All the times he threatened to send me back to London, I would think, why didn’t you leave me there? He was never shy about telling me what my mother was; a prostitute, to whom he owed nothing.” Hux shook his head. “And even if he did, it’s not like Brendol has ever proven himself as a man of honor.”

Sloan hummed an acknowledgement to her charge’s words. She herself sometimes wondered why Brendol Hux opted to suffer with his willful son. It would have been so easy to send him away to a boarding school or even a home for wayward youth. His status as an illegitimate child meant that Brendol was not required to provide him anything, not even the surname Hux preferred to use as his moniker.

“You’re like a thoroughbred stallion,” said Sloan, “I used to see it all the time on the plantation I grew up on. The owners would take aside the best workers and literally breed them like animals. Families were broken, babes ripped from their mother’s arms to be sold at market. And that’s all women and Omegas are in high society; breeding stock. An investment opportunity meant to yield dividends.”

“I didn’t ask for this life,” Hux mumbled to himself. “He ought to just let me be.”

“I had a half-sister growing up,” Sloan began quietly, “she was five years younger than me, the result of my mother being caught unawares by one of the drunken overseers on our plantation. My mother hated Cindel, she was a high yellow girl who looked just like her father. Mama would beat her, scream at her, blame her for everything bad that happened to us. Cindel just took it all. I do not doubt she probably had some secret place she would go and cry, but around us, she never shed a tear.”

“You’ve never told you had a sister,” Hux said in clear bewilderment.

“It was hard to think of her that way, and not just because we looked different. Cindel was _challenging_ ,” Sloan looked to Hux and smiled, “she simply would not accept the status quo. Being as light as she was, everyone thought she’d work in the house, be a kitchen girl or something. But Cindel didn’t want that. As far as she was concerned, there was no difference between the field or the house; a slave was a slave.

“One night, my mother and I woke up to men screaming out in the field. When I turned to Cindel’s bed, I saw she was gone, as were all her clothes. We went out to see what the commotion was, and we came upon the overseer, Cindel’s father, cut from his groin to his throat like a pig!”

“And where was Cindel?”

“Gone,” Sloan sighed, “no one ever saw or heard from her again.”

“Incredible,” Hux glanced back out the window. The small shower had passed, “Where do think she went?”

“Canada,” said Sloan, “I believe with all my heart she made it there.” Sloan shifted closer to him on the sill, close enough to rest her hand on his. “Armitage, the how’s and the why’s of this world are mystery to use mortals. But if there is one thing I do know, it is this: people are forged like weapons, created from the heat and pressure around us. Those under the most duress, become the most fearsome tools.”

Hux’s hand stirred, his finger’s weaving his and Sloan’s together.

“I never would have gotten this far without you…”

“Yes, you would have,” said Sloan with a sly smile, “you would have just been stuck doing all the laundry.” She then stood, placing gentle kiss in Hux’s hair.

 “Stay here, read your books and let Tarkin and your father conduct their business. I suspect that awful man is only here to help him sell the property. Later on, I’ll bring up a plate of food.”

“Thank you,” said Hux. Sloan gave him one last kiss and then she was gone, leaving Hux alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 

Sloan double knotted the shawl wrapped around her head and dug out her galoshes from the back of the mud room closet. The sky was now clear, and the clouds were swiftly rolling north, but Sloan knew rain on the Atlantic coast was highly capricious, more so in the early spring. Any moment another shower could wash over the land.

Up in the hillside, among the ferns and trailing wolfsbane, there was a path lovingly laid with stone. Sloan followed its winding route to a stream, whose path stopped abruptly at a stack of mossy stones. There, it forked into several thin and short falls.

The pooling pond at the base of the falls was lined with wild bergamot. Here among the mauve blooms, Sloan brought her hands to her mouth and pursed her lips, sending out a trilling bird call out into the woods.

And she waited.

The falls beside her gently splashed into the pool.

A bird call, similar to her own, came singing through the trees.

Sloan directed herself to it and began to move again. 

His camouflage was impressive, had Sloan not known what to look for she never would have seen Lando Calrissian among the foliage. He stood on a rocky slope, the frail afternoon light playing on the soft hollows of his cheeks and giving his dark complexion and almost coppery glow. His keen eyes moved across the woods and settled on her. A smile curved the line of his thick, black mustache.

“Sloan,” Lando trudged across the carpet of fallen leaves, “I was beginning to worry; what took you so long?”

“I told you the last time we met; things have not been well at the house!” Sloan placed her hands on her hips to emphasize her unhappiness with life at Arkanis Hall. “Brendol is taking serious steps toward selling it, even having that awful Colonel Tarkin over to help with the arrangements. I was barely able to slip away with such a shrewd and sober set of eyes around.”

“How long is he planning to stay around?” Sloan shrugged.

“I don’t think it matters. Once the army moves in on the fort, this will no longer be a safe pass.”

Lando released a frustrated groan.

 “I’ve already had to divert the Georgia railway from Savannah up to Augusta and through Columbia. I know Charleston is dangerous now, but it is the most direct line shoots straight through it. I can’t keep sending people around like that. We don’t have enough supplies-”

 “I know this, Lando!” Sloan cried, “I have been a conductor for near twenty years! Do not forget I helped start the Georgia railway when I lived in Atlanta.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything.” Lando sighed as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and her in close to his side. “Sixteen years of your life,” his husky voice whispered, “hundreds of lives saved. You are the most dedicated conductor I have ever known. Did you ever consider for a moment that perhaps your time to journey to the promise land has come?”

Sloan shrugged her way out of Lando’s grip.

“No,” she shook her head, shaking away her deep desire to know what it would be like to break her chains forever, “this is my lot, Lando. I will work until I free every slave, or they kill me for trying.”

Lando looked her over with gently hooded eyes. She did not want to enjoy it, in the same way she did not want to enjoy the idea of selfishly taking the railroad to her own freedom.

 “Who are you, Rae Sloan?” Lando whispered, coming close again. 

“Just a woman,” she replied firmly. “Now, let’s get down to brass tax. This town is about to get ripped in two and you and I need to figure out a better way to keep this railway safe and open!”

Lando and Sloan chatted all afternoon under the thick canopy of the curiously named bald cypresses. They looked over maps and drew new ones in the dirt with fallen branches. The slave railways were already a tentative system, relying on goodwill and hope to see the travelers through. There was true fear that the war would shatter the lines to pieces.

In the end, they resigned to the idea that Charleston could no longer be a checkpoint. They agreed to meet in a week to find better options to move supplies to Columbia to help travelers survive the longer trek.

“Not what I wanted to hear,” Lando admitted, “but we have no time for wishful thinking.”

“No,” Sloan agreed, twilight settling in all around. Mosquitos buzzed through the thick humid air. “We act, we move, we don’t think twice about it.”

* * *

 Sloan moved quickly back through the forest, back up the slope and down along the creek. She arrived at Arkanis Hall just as the sun began to dip beneath the clouds. Strange movements at the front of the house caused her to stop still in the brush. Sweat was pouring from her brow. A carriage drawn by four horses was stopped in the driveway and Brendol was coming down the front steps. With echoing laughter, he embraced the man walking from the carriage: Edrison Peavey.

“Damnation,” Sloan whispered to herself just before a hand clasped itself over her mouth. She attempted to fight against it, but an arm hooked around her elbows as another hand pinned her wrist skillfully to her lower back.

 “Just like the boy; too clever for your own good.” It was Colonel Tarkin. “When will people like you learn to accept your place in this world, hm? Never matter, I’m here now. You two might be able to fool that old drunk but I am cut from a different cloth.”

 Sloan tried to scream, but nothing could be heard.

* * *

 

Hux woke suddenly to the sound of his book slipping and hitting the floor. He did not remember drifting off; the hour was strange with low clouds and an obscured sun, which left him feeling disoriented. With a long, annoyed groan, he reached down to pick up his book and began to reread the last few pages, trying to remember where Pip was in the next episode of his adventure when there was a firm knock at his door.

“Who-?” Without permission, Brendol burst into the room. “What are you doing?”

“Downstairs, now,” were the only commands Hux received.

“Just a minute, you can’t come barging in here and-”

 “I did not come here to argue with you boy!” And Brendol’s tone reflected that. “Downstairs, straight to the receiving room.”

 “Lovely,” Hux rolled his eyes as he walked past his father, “you dredged up one last lonely bachelor to vie for my hand. Wait,” Hux turned in the doorway, realizing he was shoeless and without a proper frock coat, “shall I not dress my part?”

“He’s seen ya before, so git!” Brendol waved for Hux to move again.

Hux’s first thought was naturally Poe Dameron, after Hux’s outburst at the Exchange there was a good chance he was the only Alpha left in Charleston who would even consider mating with him.

Though, there was another possibility that made his heart beat faster.

              It was not hard to imagine that word of his tryst with Renault had reached Arkanis Hall. At this point, Brendol might just be desperate enough to marry him off to a Captain from the sordid city down on the delta. Omegas had been forced into marriage before to salvage a reputation, often with less than ideal candidates. Unspoken social laws suggested that appearances had to be kept up at all cost.

  The smallest iota within Hux wondered if it was possible that Ren had ridden out of his own volition to ask for Hux’s hand marriage.

Arkanis Hall was pitch black, save to the shifting orange light of the fire in the receiving room. The sight filled Hux with great unease, playing on his still groggy mind and making him wonder is he was halfway between wake and a nightmare.

Rounding the corner, he found his forebodings were well perceived.

“Goodness, looks like we woke you,” Peavey’s smile looked hideous in the harsh relief cast by the firelight.

  “What are you doing here?” Hux sneered at Peavey’s greeting.

  “I am certainly in no mood for an encore of this afternoon’s performance,” Hux turned to see Colonel Tarkin stood from one of the rounded back chairs to join Peavey’s side. “Set aside your misplaced indignation and take a seat, you father has something to discuss with you.”

 Hux looked to Brendol, who merely nodded at the settee behind Hux. Woefully out-numbered, Hux decided it was best to do what he was told.  

 “Armitage; the time has come for me to return home,” Brendol began, a small twinge of regret in his voice. “I will spare you the details as I am certain you understand the need for my departure. America has not been what I thought it would,” he made a sort of grunt, or perhaps a laugh. Hux really could not tell. “I have given the Colonel permission to begin seeking a buying for this house and me land, the funds I will use to head back for England,” Brendol looked to his son, “alone.”

Hux straightened his back.

“So, it’s true, you plan to marry me off then? Cut your losses?”

“Aye,” Brendol said somberly.

“Is it Poe Dameron?” Hux asked. “Is he here?”

“Young Poe would have been a fine choice five years ago, but I have no interest in having a mountain man as a son-in-law. Birds of a feather, Armitage. Wealth marries wealth, status marries status.”

  A cold pulse went through Hux. Every muscle tensed, every joint began to hurt. His heart dropped to his stomach, and his stomach dropped to the floor.

 “Why is Peavey here…?”

 “I know I am not the handsome dashing man you were expecting to marry-”

 “No!” Hux shot to his feet, “Absolutely not!”

 “Spoiled brat!” Tarkin laughed, “Oh, child, if only you had seen what rubbish your mother would have raised you in! And here, your father has chosen a rich man who will build for your children a grand legacy and you act with such indignation!” Hux tried to formulate an answer but Tarkin was uninterested in giving him a chance to defend himself. “And in the end, do you not have only yourself to blame? Twenty-two years old, you could have found a fine mate by now, but you dragged your feet, acting as though this day might not come. As if you were too smart, too bold, too defiant to be simply what you are. You ought to count yourself lucky that Edrison Peavey would want to marry and mate with a selfish little bastard like you. If it were up to me, I would have stripped you naked and dumped you in the gutter years ago and let whatever man came along have you!”

“You can’t-”

 “I can do whatever I damn well please! That is a lesson the both of you sorely need to be taught!”

“Both?” Hux asked.

 “Go on Brendol; bring the girl.” Hux sensed Brendol’s hulking frame shuffling off behind him.

“Are you talking about Sloan?” Hux narrowed his eyes on Tarkin, “I swear, if you harm one bloody hair on her head…”

“You’ll what?” Tarkin laughed. “Come now, tell me! What’s the little Omega going to do?”

Hux felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. It was hard to imagine there was anything worse than Brendol’s primitive reactions of yelling and swinging fist when Hux displeased him. But Tarkin’s airy laugh was like a brutal castration, cutting Hux to his core and leaving him helpless and vulnerable. He could only stand there with his hands balled in little fist as Tarkin and Peavey whispered and chuckled amongst themselves.

 “Here she is!” Hux turned to see Brendol dragging Sloan into the room. Hux felt himself overwhelmed at the sight of the woman he adored so much with her wrist bound with thick rope and a strip of fabric jammed in her mouth and tied around her head. Sloan was not making it easy for Brendol, kicking and jerking and attempting to pull herself from her grip. The sclera of her wide, wild eyes reflected back the blazing orange of the firelight.

“Sloan!” Hux lunged at her, but Brendol kicked at him, knocking Hux down to the floor.  

“Stay back, boy! Ya don’t know what yer meddlin’ in!”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Don’t act so indignant,” Peavey scoffed as Hux pushed himself upright on the floor, “it appears Miss Sloan here had been trafficking runaway slaves across Brendol’s property.”

 Everything came in rush; the distant movements in the trees, the marking on the stables, the empty dinner napkins in the silo. Hux never considered that they could be connected. But it all made sense now.

“Do you know what happens to women like that?” Peavey continued. “String them up on a tree, let the body twist as warning to any other slaves who do not know their place.”

 “No,” Hux whispered, unheard. Hot tears began to blur his vision, “you can’t…”

Tarkin began to approach the fireplace.

 “Not so brave are we now, little Armitage?” He asked, removing a fire poker from the rack and placing the tip into the flames. “There is a rhyme and a reason to all things; the sun follows the moon, winters follows summer. The Omega submits to the Alpha. A Negro submits to a white man. This is how it is, and any attempt to fight it must be corrected. Now,” his cruel eyes slid over to Peavey, “give me a hand, will you Edrison?” Peavey walked over and grabbed Sloan by the arm. “Since Brendol does not keep stock, we had to make do with what’s here.”

 Tarkin lifted the poker from the fireplace, the head now a throbbing orange.

 Sloan made a horrible noise from behind her gag.

  “Will you kindly pull down her blouse?” Without hesitation, Peavey jerked down the fabric covering Sloan’s shoulder. A loud tear could be heard and the rough and raised skin of Sloan’s back was exposed; marks of all the lessons she endured at the hands of all her cruel owners.

 You monster!” Hux scrambled to his feet, panic making him uncoordinated and unbalanced. He was easy prey for Brendol to swoop in on and pull back in a tight grip.

 “It’s for your own good, boy,” Brendol growled in his ear.

 The smell of burning flesh hit Hux’s nostrils, causing him to lurch forward and gag. Sloan’s screams of pain came his ears as a high, sustained pitch. He must have been struggling because Brendol tightened his grip.

 Tarkin pulled back the poker with a smirk. Sloan slumped over, whimpering. Hux became boneless in his father’s grip.

“Shall we discuss the marriage arrangements then?” Tarkin’s too cheery voice inquired.

Hux felt himself dropped back on the sofa. For a moment he laid there, stunned, unable to take his eyes off Sloan. Her face twisted up in anguish as she attempted to curl in to a little ball. Some pathetic attempt to try and protect herself from further harm.

Distantly, Hux could hear the men talking.

  “I believe we discussed thirty percent of the sale of Arkanis Hall and the property will be allocated as a sort of dowry?”

 “Thirty is fine, as long as my interest in your land hasn’t changed.”

 “Of course not, Brendol!”

He was not being married, Hux thought, he was being traded. It was all like Sloan had said; they were nothing but animals meant for exploiting profit. Who they were, what they were, all their hopes and dreams; it was all trivial nonsense to men like this.

 Hux realized he could not give up. There had to be some way out.

 “I won’t do it,” he said, getting to his feet again. The men did not look up from their shuffling of papers. Hux huffed and marched up to Peavey, grabbed his arm and spun him around.

 “I will not marry you! Not after what you did to me! Have you no shame?”

“Dammit Armitage!” Brendol roared. “What will it take to get you to understand? Do I have to shoot your horse?” Hux only responded by clenching his jaw and squaring his shoulders. “Tell me! What will it take to get you to sit down, shut your mouth and just behave!”  

 “You don’t know what he did to me!”

“You mean that little episode in Hilton Head?” Brendol waved a hand at his son’s crumbling face.

“You…you know what he _did_ to me?”

 “I confessed to your father shortly afterwards and asked forgiveness,” Peavey began.

 “And what about me?” Hux cried. “I am the one you ought to have come crawling to for forgiveness!”

“Oh, Armitage,” Peavey drew on that sickeningly sarcastic tone that made Hux’s skin crawl, “I did not mean to offend. I thought you would understand; a beautiful young man like yourself with so many suitors.”

“You’ve known me since I was a child…,” Hux shuffled back, his face a reflection of the revulsion rising inside him, “as a little boy. You would watch me overnight when Brendol went to Charleston. How much more perverse can this be?”

“I also had the privilege to watch you bloom,” Peavey said dreamily. “Please, Armitage, let me make a life for us. You will love life in the territories; all the open air and land anyone could want. I am having a lavish manor built with all the modern amenities and any luxury your heart would desire. We could have a whole brood of little ones running around, could you imagine it?”

“I’m not leaving Charleston; this is my home!” Hux yelled back at him. “And to suggest I would have children with you,” he looked to Brendol, “I’d just as soon burn this bloody house down with myself inside it!”

“Kill the girl,” said Tarkin.

The room was silent.

“What?” Brendol asked.

“The Sloan girl, take her outside and put a bullet in her head. Based on what we have discovered about her, you have every right to.”

“You wouldn’t,” Hux’s gaze was still heavy on his father.

“Her blood would be on your hands, young Armitage,” said Tarkin. “You have two options; thank Peavey here for his generosity and agree to his marriage proposal or,” he shrugged, “we kill the Negro. It’s that simple. There are not other options here; your little game is over.”

And it was.

“Don’t,” Hux’s words were broken with a sharp sob. He tried to continue but he was forced to cover his mouth with his hands, shuddering as he attempted to catch his breath. “Don’t hurt…don’t hurt her…”

 “Then say it!” Tarkin commanded, clearly unaffected by Hux’s sudden outburst.

The men waited, only the sound of the fire crackling and Hux’s soft snuffling could be heard.

“I’ll marry you, Peavey,” Hux finally said, head down and eyes averted. “I’ll marry you…”


	9. Chapter 9

“Please, Brendol,” Hux swallowed hard, his throat raw from his sobbing, “father…”

 “Father now, is it? Aye, father when you need somethin’!” Brendol roared with laughter. They were back in Hux’s room, Hux sitting on the edge of the bed as Brendol paced before him. “Wilhuf was right, you had your chance. A hundred young men have paraded themselves through this home and to each you turned up your nose!”

“But Peavey…?”

“I won’t lie, I was bloody livid when he told me what he did. He could have brought on a heat, and then what would I do with ya? Bad enough I can barely keep you in the house. No,” Brendol shook his head, “I’ll get back what I’ve spent over the years and you can finally go somewhere where you can’t cause any trouble; it’s for the best.”

 “Really? You think this is for the best?” Heat began to rise from Hux’s cheeks, up to the shells of his ears. “There are plenty of other things you could do! Is a return on your investment that bloody important?”

  “It’s more than the money,” Brendol approached the bed, his voice low and gravely, “you have my name, boy. You think I would allow my name to be attached to an unmarried and unmated Omega? Stars knows what trouble you would get in to! Your kind is best mated, raising children. Did you ever consider for a moment you might like it?”

Hux raised up his head and looked Brendol straight in the eye.

“No.”

 “Well, ya better start!” Brendol spat back, “Now, I’ve had enough of your nonsense,” he began to head for the door.

 “What will you do with Sloan?”

Brendol’s mass lurched to an unsteady halt.

  “She’ll live,” he said without looking at his son, “long as you do as you’re told.” 

 “You’d really let them kill her?” Hux stood.

An uncomfortable silence passed over them.

 “Good night, Armitage.”

Had it not been for a near-full moon, Brendol would have left Hux in a pitch-black room. Silver light poured over the trappings of his privileged life; his books, his rich, solid oak furniture, the fine linen sheets of his bed. He had never known anything less than a soft world with cruel rules. Hux’s mind echoed the words of Sloan’s sister; House or field, a slave is a slave. A cage made of gold and diamonds was still as restrictive as one made of cold steel.

Owls hooted and cooed outside Hux’s window. A sharp wind rattled the panes.

He wondered what Cindel heard the night she decided to kill her father.

If the sky was calm, with faint tendrils of clouds obscuring the stars.

 Or if perhaps a storm, loud and bright and frightful had rolled over Atlanta. He wondered if there had been a moon and, if so, was it as big as the one that loomed over the rustling tree tops of his lonesome island.

The idea of killing Brendol was not something Hux had ever truly considered. He had mentally gone over what he might say at the man’s funeral and what cheap flowers he might purchase to toss into the grave after the casket. But to take the initiative himself and put some finality to their bitter battles had never been more obvious, never been more clear. Brendol himself had already crossed that seemingly sacred barrier the night he choked Hux in front of their own home. There was no loyalty to family at that point, no hope they would grow from their shared animosity and form some semblance of a healthy father-son relationship.

Hux went and checked his bedroom door; locked. By morning the ink on the deeds and the marriage license would be dry and Hux would be shipped out on the first train heading west.

Time was not in his favor, nor were the odds. Hux had more than Brendol to contend with; there were two more possible obstacles wandering around the great manor. If he failed to kill them with succinct discretion, not only would his own life be at risk, but so would Sloan’s.

Hux did not know what he was going to find as he began to dig through his bureau drawers. He needed a weapon; any weapon. There was a flickering hope that perhaps he might have stowed away a small dagger or maybe even a pistol, but as Hux pulled out layer after layer of dress shirts and pants, he realized his foresight was not as strong as he would have liked.

 

To his surprise, Hux’s fingers gripped something soft and cool. From the back of the drawer he pulled out a silken white robe shone in the moonlight, the cuffs and tassels dangling from the cord a dark goldenrod. Hux smiled as he remembered the circumstances that had brought such a ridiculous item into his room. It had been present from a cocky man visiting from Tennessee who became smitten with Hux and engaged in an accelerated courting to try and convince the aloof red-head to come back with him to his manor. When the robe arrived in big box with a diamond ring, a furious Brendol refused to allow the man any further contact with his son.

Naturally, Hux kept the hated robe.

Beyond the fact it drew the most intense ire from his father, Hux had little real interest in the robe. Now, it was entirely possible that it could be the weapon Hux was looking for. Peavey was going to be the easiest to kill. He still trusted Hux, enough to marry him anyway, a weakness Hux was more than happy to exploit.

The question now came down to the cous de gras, the killing blow that would quickly and quietly take out his first foe. Choking another grown man to death did not seem like a viable option, so much could go wrong. Early in his hunting career, Hux learned a poor shot meant he was forced to approach the wounded animal in order to slit its throat and at least put it out of its misery. The panicked creature would put up a fair fight, thrashing wildly in some futile attempt to get away. But Hux always managed to push through the pity and horror of slicing through a living thing to finish the job.

Hux glanced around his bathroom, his eyes meeting his reflection’s in the mirror of his vanity.

He smiled at himself.

* * *

 

Brendol came late morning, coffee and toast and Hux’s morning suppressant in tow. They spoke little as there was little left to be said.

“Perhaps, for lunch, could you send Peavey?” Hux tried to make his voice sound submissive, averting his eyes to the floor as he spoke. “I wish to speak with him.”

“Has your pride withered so quickly?”

“You mustn’t be mad at her, but Sloan told me about how large a parcel of land Peavey has purchased out west. Is it true? Did he manage to buy seventy thousand?”

“What interest do you have in land?”

“I have interest in a husband who will provide. If I must marry, I would prefer a wealthy mate.” Hux sighed, “Let me guess; it is not an Omegas business to know how much money or land their Alpha has.”

“Traditionally; no.” Brendol eyed his son warily, “But I suppose I cannot fault ya. There is still much discussion to be had but, I will let Peavey know you expressed an interest in his company.”

“Thank you.”

The moment Brendol was out the door, Hux pulled one of his pillows from the case and wrapped the now limp sack of linen around his right fist. He then went to his vanity, unsure with how to proceed. There was a strange finality to the act. Once the mirror was shattered, there really was no going back.

Hux drew in a deep breath and sent his bandaged fist straight into the center.

His face shattered. Chards reflected back his wild eyes, flushed cheeks and gritted teeth as they fell onto the vanity surface. The largest piece showed nothing, catching only a bit of the ceiling and a corner of the room. Hux removed the pillowcase wrap from his fist and wound it around the base of the large chard. He then went and wedged it just so under his mattress, making sure that it would be easily accessible for him to grab and make a strike at Peavey.

All that remained was his costume, the lure that would lead Peavey right into Hux’s trap. Hux slipped on the robe, taking a moment to revel in the exquisite feel of the silk on his skin. For the smallest fraction of a second, he reconsidered everything. He wondered if spending nights under a misshapen man three times his age was a fair price to pay for a life of luxury. He would be allowed to act as ruler of his own vast kingdom, though his reign would be burdened with carrying many young princes and princesses.

And then he thought of Ren.

Ren could have run off to Europe with his mother and let New Orleans fall flaming into the hands of the Union. He did not have to put his life on the line for the sake of honor. Though uncertain where their relationship was headed, the desire to stand at his side was still as strong in Hux’s heart as it had been that morning in front of The Benedict. If he ever wanted the chance, he had to break free.

When the sun was half-way through its descent, a soft knock rapt on Hux’s door.

“Armitage?” Peavey’s voice asked. “Brendol said you wished to speak with me?”

“Yes, please come in. Close the door behind you.”

“Certainly, I-” Edrison’s words became garbled up in his absolute awe. He stared shamelessly at the sight of Hux in the robe, so much so Hux felt a sickening lurch in his stomach and was forced to turn away, hair falling into his face.

“Close the door,” Hux said softly. Without question Edrison did as he was commanded, his hands clumsily working the lock as he eyes were still unable to peel themselves away from Hux.

“Armitage,” he finally managed, “where did you – that’s a lovely robe...”

“It was a present…” Peavey slowly began to make his approach. Hux’s muscles began to tense, like a snake readying a strike.

“Am I to take this as a sign that your feelings around our engagement have changed?”

“I have had time to weigh my options,” said Hux, “that might sound a bit inelegant, certainly not something I would pen into our vows. But I do mean it as a compliment.”

“I am not sure how.”

“I have always had interested parties,” Hux felt a strange flutter of pride in his heart at the memory of all the men he so effectively shut down over the years, “and there is no doubt, despite their spurned hearts, they would still take me. I would survive just fine without my father’s wealth.  

“The question I had to pose to myself was: why had I not done it sooner? What was it I was searching that I could not find in the arms of the Alphas who sought me out?” Hux relaxed his eyelids so that they deeply hooded his eyes, giving Peavey that sort of look he saw Thanisson give Rivas on their wedding day.

“I do not know what I could offer you that no other Alpha could.”

“They had no sense of self,” said Hux, “they were like little trained dogs, walking into our home on their father’s purse strings. I need a man, Peavey. I need a man who is well traveled, well read and has means of his own. A self-made man,” Hux smiled, “like you.”

“So, it’s my wealth that has melted your heart?” Peavey’s voice was playful, but his eyes were wide and anxious.

“No, with age comes a certain sophistication. Something boys don’t have. You have so much to teach me, and I am willing to learn.”

Hux sat on his bed, leaning back on his elbows and pulling up the bottom hem of the rob.

“And to be taken from South Carolina?” Peavey asked, licking at his dry lips.

“How much longer will I be able to call South Carolina home?” Hux laughed, “Call me a traitor if you must, but the Confederacy is not well-suited to take on the Union. The spirit of the people is admirable, but in the end, the north’s ability to produce weapons and keep their trade routes open will lead to our demise.”

Hux reached out his hand.

Peavey took it.

“It is time for me to start a new life. I am so tired of fighting everyone all the time.” Gently, he began to pull Peavey down as he held the man’s gaze. To his surprise though, Peavey remained upright and rigid. “You will still have me, won’t you?”

“Of course…,” Peavey said with a breathless wonder. “But…”

“Think of nothing,” Hux said quickly, “let’s begin our new life together, right here. Right now.” Hux angled a knee and pushed it outward, allowing himself to become vulnerable to Peavey’s leer. There was a visible detachment from rational thought in Peavey’s eyes. The same dark void Hux had peered into that night in Hilton Head.

Hux held his demure smile more firmly than one carved from stone. He was too close now to give in to fear.

“May I?” Peavey broke his hand from Hux’s and began to slowly rub the inner part of Hux’s raised thigh.

“Please do,” Hux forced out a seductive sigh as he pushed himself back further on the bed, closer to the chard.

“Oh, Armitage, if you only you could have seen yourself at Hilton Head!” Peavey began to babble, “I remember going down to the shore and watching you walk along the water, your hair in the wind, lost in your thoughts! You were no longer the child, but a grown man. And I wanted you with an undeniable selfishness,” he gasped as and laughed at himself. “Do you forgive me?”

Hux’s grip found the chard.

“No.”

The moment the simple word slipped from his lips, a hot explosion of blood shot over Hux’s arm. With all his strength he pushed the broken chard into Peavey’s neck. Hux relished in the man’s horrified, almost heart-broken expression.

“You pig,” Hux rasped and quickly bit at his lip, now drawing heaving breath through his nose. He dragged the crude blade across Peavey’s throat, blood spilled and spurted everywhere. Hux could feel the robe become heavy with the weight of the viscous liquid it was quickly soaking up.

Peavey made no sound, no real sound that could attract attention. Just a gurgling attempt to say Hux’s name or foolishly ask for an explanation. His arms attempted to flail and perhaps push his attacker away, but such attempts were awkward and easy to evade.

After four minutes it was over; Edrison Peavey was dead.

The blood dried quickly, causing the soaked robe to cling to Hux’s skin. He sat quietly and felt the heat slip away. He then went to the bathroom and cleaned his hands. They had more work to do.

When Hux returned to his room, he found the corpse of Edrison Peavey staring at him. Hux stared back, still heaving with the effort it took to kill the man.

If all went according to plan, Tarkin and Brendol would be easier. There was a gun rack in the back of the house, though Brendol did not keep them loaded. Many of them were Hux family heirlooms from England, meant more to be shown off to guest. Brendol engaged in demonstrations frequently enough that Hux knew they were in working order.

Hux padded his way down the hall. Everything inside him alert, aware, taking in every bit of information the universe had to offer. He listened to the birds for a break in their song which would signal a disturbance, his cool eyes followed the pattern of every shadow so he could detect movement. Every skill he had perfected in the fields and woods was put to the test. It was time to prove to himself he was the finest hunter that had ever roamed John’s island.

Fetching a gun was not difficult, though tedious. Through controlled movement, Hux removed an Endfield rife, one that had been recently modified to correct the sight. This was of the upmost importance, as Brendol’s antique rifles required a ridiculous amount of time to reload and could only send off three shots per round. Hux filled each of the flimsy pockets of the robe with as many bullets as he could.

There was no discussion to be heard in the kitchen or any of the main living areas which meant Tarkin and his father must have split. Hux was certain someone would be in study, either the old Colonel working on the deed or his father helping himself to the fine whiskeys he kept there. Hux had to employ the upmost discipline not to jump or cock his rife each time the old manor set as the afternoon moved to dusk.

It was Tarkin in the office, his long neck craning downward as he worked by oil lamp. Hux sucked in his breath and steadied his gun.

The shot ran out. When Hux pulled the rifle back he saw the blood on the wall and Tarkin’s head on the desk. There was no movement in the study, but the house shook with Brendol’s furious cries and footsteps.

“What in the bloody-Wilhuf! Did you hear that? Wilhuf! Edrison!”

At first, Hux mistook Brendol’s terrified expression to be a reaction to Tarkin’s blown-open skull.

“Armitage…,” a great delight overtook him though when he realized it was him, blood soaked and angry with a smoking rifle, that frightened Brendol so.

“He was lucky,” Hux said quietly, “he did not suffer. Peavey on the other hand…”

“What have you done?” Brendol rasped, his whole, hulking mass visibly shaking. “Boy, what have you done!”

Hux simply smiled.

“I am what you designed me to be; I am your blade. You cannot now complain if you also feel the hurt.”

The urgency of the situation began to fade. A sinister desire to give Brendol a small lead, a small glimmer of hope that he might escape alive twisted its way into Hux’s mind. He was sure enough in his skill, more so now that two of his three targets were dead. To toy with his prey was an experience he did not want to let slip away.

As Brendol loudly gasped for breath as he ran for the front door, Hux leisurely strode behind him, humming a small tune as he added another round to the rifle.

The twilight was cool and filled with the transitional noises of the creatures of the field, either bringing their day to and end or waking to stalk the night. Hux stood on the front steps of Arkanis hall and drew in a few deeps breaths through his nose before readying the Endfield rifle. Brendol had barely managed to make his way across the gravel driveway.

The moment Hux heard the shot, felt the recoil of the rifle, Brendol was on the ground. Frightened birds flew up from the tall grasses.

A haunting stillness came over all of John’s Island.

Hux watched the fallen form of his father, his knuckles turning white with his firm grip on the gun. All of him anticipated Brendol to suddenly rise once more and turn and attack him. But as the sun set and the cool hues of the night settled him Hux found himself accepting that it was all over. Brendol was dead, Tarkin was dead, Peavey was dead.

For good measure though, Hux send his last two shots into Brendol’s corpse.

“Sloan?” Hux called out as he reentered the front door, her name echoing through the house “Sloan, where are you?” When he got no response, Hux realized she might still be gagged and began to run through the house, searching every hidden place he could think of. It was not long till he found her, still bound and gagged in the crawl space of the back stairwell.

“Those brutes,” Hux fought back tears as he pulled the gag from her mouth. Sloan’s head lolled to the side, her eyes trying to focus on her charge. “Sloan, please, say something…”

“Armie?” She asked, “Are you…hurt?”

“No,” Hux shook his head, “no, I’m all right.”

“I heard the gun fire…”

“Yes.”

“Are they?” Hux nodded.

“Come on; grab some clothes and food, I’m going to find some money. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Hux found an interesting assortment of assets within the desk back in the study (once he unceremoniously shoved Tarkin’s corpse aside). There was a fair amount of Confederate dollars as well as proper American money, all neatly wrapped and marked. The discovery of gold coins though gave Hux a better sense of ease as they were arguably the best form of currency in a world facing all-out war.

He then went and met Sloan in the kitchen where the woman was filling two knapsacks with rolls and fruit.

“I collected some clothes, including your black frock coat,” Sloan nodded to a pile of clothing on the breakfast nook table, “and your favorite books, the ones I always saw you reading anyway.” She slowed her work slightly, still not looked at Hux as she spoke. “Did you trick him into thinking you would…have relations with him?”

 Hux remembered he had left Peavey’s body on the bed.

“It worked,” he said sheepishly.

Sloan walked over and pulled Hux, bloody robe and all into her arms.

“You brave little boy,” she whispered, “you saved us, you saved us both. You know that, right?”

“I,” but Hux did not know what to say, so he allowed himself to be held in Sloan’s strong arms.

“We really should be going,” Sloan finally pulled away, soft tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” Hux asked. He had finally decided he had had enough of the bloody robe and was sorting through the clothing Sloan brought him.

“Yes, I am very lucky that a friend of mine is staying close by in a safe house. He’s another conductor, his name’s Lando; Lando Calrissian.”

“Will you go to Canada then?”

“Most likely.”

“Oh.”

It was dark when they walked out to the stables; each with enough food and money to get them to their next destination.

“You should take Allegretto,” Hux said, “she’s younger and faster. If you’re going to be traveling that far north-”

“I couldn’t,” Sloan shook her head.

“You can and you will. Alkazar is good enough to get me to Charleston; he knows the way. I can trade him for a better horse when I get there. Please,” Hux did not bother to hide how much it hurt him to give away his beloved mare, there was no point in putting on an act for Sloan, “you’ve done so much for me, let her take you somewhere safe…”

“Promise me Renault will be good to you,” Hux could hear Sloan’s voice strain as she held back her tears. “Promise me he won’t hurt you, won’t leave you.” Warm hands cupped his face. “Promise me he will love you as you deserve to be loved.”

“Yes,” Hux surprised himself with his lack of hesitation.

“You are worthy of so much,” Sloan whispered, “do not ever forget how hard you fought for this freedom. Do not take it for granted. Treasure it, Armitage, even when it becomes hard. And it will, I know it will. Life outside the ivory tower can be brutal,” Hux felt a small kiss placed on his forehead, “but at least it is real. This is life how it was meant to be lived. Be free, my little one. You have no master now.”

Nothing else was said as they mounted their horses. Sloan headed west to the safe house. Hux headed north up to Charleston.

North to Renault Solo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you all sexy time next chapter, just hang in there! 
> 
> Also SO MUCH <3 <3 <3 for all the comments and kudos! You guys rule, thank you for the endless encouragement. I'm glad you're all enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got to watch 'The Man Who Killed Don Quixote' and 100% confirmed for Renault Solo. That stash could break a thousand hearts.
> 
> Sorry, there is not more sexy time, but work is cray-cray and I'm going on vay-cay so I wanted to get at least one chapter out while I had the chance. MUCH LOVE as always, you guys rule. Never forgot: everything I do, I do it for you.

Ren felt lost in the murmuring conversation of his men swirling around him. Often, he kept himself in tune with their revelry, believing it was his responsibility as their Captain to keep a baseline on their morale. But on this night, as they sat tight around the roaring fire in his suite, passing around plates of salty catfish and criticisms of the unsophisticated palettes of the Charlestonites, Renault Solo was a thousand miles away. General Beauregard had sent out a Colonel and a Captain to Fort Sumter to issue an ultimatum; leave the fort or face the wrath of the Confederate Army.

A response had yet to return, but everyone knew the starved soldiers would not surrender.

“ _Mon Pere_?” Ren turned to see two blue eyes looking worriedly at him. “You seem burdened. Perhaps something a bit stronger than wine to ease the weight?”

“Thank you Phasma, but,” Ren glanced down at his wine glass, surprised to find it empty. It had been full just a moment ago…

“Here,” Phasma pushed up on her long legs, “let me get you another drink.” Ren had never seen a woman like Cerise Jansma. Though English born, her surname and white blonde hair suggested a strong Dutch ancestry. Her great build allowed her to wield both a Scottish claymore and an American Winchester. Beneath her Zouave uniform though was a fully figured woman, curvy and sumptuous. A living, breathing Valkyrie of ancient lore.

Being a woman though did not stop her from solidifying herself as a member of the Zouaves. She had initially been nicknamed _‘Le Fantôme’_ , The Ghost, the skilled assassin who was never seen. Somehow over time, the men had sloppily fused this with her surname, and she became Phasma within their ranks.

 “Here we are,” she placed a glass of brown liquor before Ren.

“ _Merci_.”

A firm knock rattled the door.

“Someone call the porter?” Phasma asked.

“What porter knocks like that?” A sandy-haired man responded.

“Andre!” Phasma pointed at him. “Go see who’s there!” Andre quickly went to the door and opened it wide.

Ren felt his heart drop.

It was Armitage Hux, looking like he had ridden in on a storm. His red hair was twisted upward, cheeks were flushed. The work shirt barely tucked into his riding jodhpurs was horribly stained and wrinkled. A few books were secure under his arm and an overstuffed bag was slung over his shoulder.

Hux stared back into the room of soldiers with wide eyes.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked in a way that almost suggested the Zouaves were an inconvenience to him.

“ _Mon Pere_ ,” Etienne, one of the men sitting close to Ren purred, “your little friend has come to see you again.” Had Eteinne not teased him in French, Ren would have dragged the man out of The Benedict by his hair and told him to sleep in the gutter. Instead, he grabbed Etienne’s dirk knife from its sheath and swiftly jabbed it into small square of upholstered chair right between the man’s thighs.

Etienne yelped, blood draining from his face as he leapt out of the chair, toppling it unceremoniously on to the floor.

“Everyone out!” Ren ordered as he shot to his feet. No other instruction was given. The men all stood without complaint, pulling their red sashes over their faces as they passed Hux. The last one out made certain to close the door behind him.

 “I am sorry to come to you like this,” Hux began once they were alone, “so late and unannounced-”

“Is everything all right,” Ren quickly crossed the room. Coming close, he noticed something glossy and damp matting Hux’s hairline.

“What’s happened here?” He lightly touched the wet patch. “Are you injured? Did your father-!”

“Brendol is dead,” Hux said quickly, “I killed him.”

Ren knew the words, he understood what they meant. He did not deny that an unpredictable ferocity dwelled beneath Hux’s cool demeanor. Yet, his brain seemed incapable of melding these things together to explain Hux’s presence and the blood on his face.

“ _You killed him_?”

Hux’s features scrunched with annoyance.

“Why must you ask it so stupidly? You sound like a child who doesn’t understand why it gets dark when the sun sets!” He pushed past Ren, throwing his things down on the small sofa near the fireplace. “Yes, I killed him! Put a bullet in his head and two in his back!”

Ren was quick to follow him though.

“I don’t understand-”

“He was going to send me away, out to the territories to be married and forgotten about!”

“Married? To whom?”

Hux did not immediately answer, looking around at the mess Ren’s men had left as if the name laid among the empty wine glasses and half-smoked cigars.

“Hux?” Ren sighed with exasperation, “Armitage?”

“It really doesn’t matter anymore,” said Hux, “he’s no longer a person of concern.”

“So, we are talking about two dead men?”

“Three…I turned Arkanis Hall into a mausoleum.”

“Three?”

“Colonel Wilhuf Tarkin,” Hux turned sharply, “a cruel man this world will not miss.” His eyes betrayed a creeping vulnerability. The pouty little scowl Ren had come to love was trembling, on the verge of absolute collapse. “I did not have a choice. Tarkin blackmailed me into marriage by threatening my dearest friend! The moment that vile pig bastard Peavey put a ring on my finger he would have put a baby in me!” Hux took in a sharp breath and bit at his bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the putrid swamp of hurt and fear and betrayal bubbling up inside of him.

“I would have been trapped,” he said once he calmed, “the rest of my life; gone. Just like that.”

“Hux…,” Ren reached out and pulled the unsettled man into his arms. Hux tensed, unsurprisingly, but Ren held firm. The fire cracked and popped in the silence between them and slowly Hux began to unwind, resting his head on Ren’s shoulder.

“Do you think I’m a monster?” He asked. Ren placed a small kiss on Hux’s brow.

“No,” another kiss. Hux’s citrus and floral scent was now tinged with blood.

“I couldn’t let them,” Hux whispered, seemingly to himself, “I couldn’t let them send me away…I couldn’t…”

“You know I would have come for you.”

Ren felt Hux huff a warm and airy laugh on his neck.

“It would be treason to leave the Army now.” Ren drew his head back, just enough for their eye to meet.

“I would have come for you; no matter the distance. No matter the cost.”

“Foolish man,” Hux smiled and placed the smallest brush of a kiss on Ren’s lips.

“Tease me all you like, Armitage Hux, but the only fool here is you. You played your little game with me and now I am trapped in your snare.” Ren suddenly dropped to both his knees.

“Ren!”

“I remember in the stable you said the only thing you ever wanted was for someone to ask you what _you_ wanted.” Ren took one of Hux’s hands a tenderly kissed the knuckles. “You have made me your obedient slave, waiting patiently for instruction.”

“Right now,” Hux sank down on a chair beside him, “as touching as your gesture is, what I really want is a warm bath and a long night’s rest.”

“Then you will have it.”

Hux ran his thumb over Ren’s bristly mustache and drew it up the length of his scar.

 “Thank you,” his voice was painfully broken and humble.

Ren called the porter and had them bring up hot water and some fresh towels. As Hux bathed, he sat and finished up the whiskey Phasma had brought.

And poured himself another glass.

Ren’s foggy mind began to wander, his dark eyes perusing the titles of the books Hux had deemed worthy enough to be brought from Arkanis Hall. There was _Walden_ , Thoreau’s spiritual memoir and a staple of any proper Omegas library. Hux also owned the full anthology of Dicken’s _Great Expectations_ , the literature de jour from Europe.

What was unusual was the works high adventure like Parkman’s _California and Oregon Trail_ and Burton’s _First Footsteps in East Africa_. Ren began to wonder if Hux had quietly been crafting a fantasy for himself, a life spent hiking up into the dense wilds of the northwest or trekking through deserts on camelback.

“I feel like I can finally breathe,” Hux suddenly emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his nightshirt and dabbing his face with a towel.

“Better?” Asked Ren.

“Substantially.”

Hux sat down on the edge of the bed. Ren could not believe how exhausted he looked.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Not really,” Hux said quietly, “I think I just…need some rest.” He rubbed his eyes, “I feel like I could sleep forever.”

“Then sleep,” said Ren, “and dream of nothing.”

Hux was under the moment his head hit the pillow, jaw slack and arms lying akimbo over his head, making it look as if he had fallen from the sky. Slowly Ren crept over to the bed and lowered his weight upon it. Hux responded with soft grunt but did not wake.

“My rose,” Ren whispered, pushing some of Hux’s red hair out of his face. His skin reminded Ren so much of his mother’s bone china; delicate and translucent, forgivably flawed. If there was a monster inside Hux, Ren could not see it. Perhaps that spoke more to a flaw within himself.

Ren sat and watched Hux sleep until the whiskey pulled at his eyelids and blurred his vision. His body ached to lie itself down beside the sleeping man and listen to his throaty little snores and coos. To lie his face down in the crook of Hux’s neck and be soothed by the sweet smell of his natural musk. But he had not been given permission to do so. Ren was not willing to compromise Hux’s newfound freedom, that was not his place…regardless of his status as an Alpha.

Besides, Ren had become comfortable with sleeping on his sofa.

* * *

 

 

Hux woke up with a dizzying sense of déjà vu. He recognized he was in Ren’s suite, though his last memory was of Rae Sloan riding away on Allegretto. Bit by bit, his mind gently fed him all the little details that helped create the bigger picture of Hux’s new normal.

Brendol was dead, as were Peavey and Tarkin. He was now a murder. Sloan was gone and, in all likelihood, he would never see her again.

Hux closed his eyes and released a long sigh.

“Are you awake, Mr. Hux?”

Hux’s eyes shot open.

“Who?” He scrambled to get upright in the bedding, “Who’s there?”

The clear daylight coming in through the windows fell upon the standing figure of a tall woman with a shock of flaxen hair and blue eyes that pierced Hux straight through. Nothing within them though betrayed her intentions. Her full lips expressed no joy or sorrow. She was dressed in the uniform of Ren’s Zouaves, though one that was modified for her figure. Hux would not help but to marvel how the woman wore their curious costume with such dignity and authority.

“Good morning Mr. Hux,” she greeted stolidly in an English accent, “my name is Cerise Jansma, First Lieutenant to Captain Renault Solo of the New Orleans Tigers. My Captain has ordered me to be here with you upon your wake.”

“And where is Captain Solo?”

“Early meeting with General Beauregard.” She gestured to the small plates of fruit and coffee press set out on the small dining room table. “Captain Solo had me order some breakfast for you.”

“The coffee smells good,” Hux said, getting out of the bed. “Have you eaten Lieutenant, what was it? Jessma?”

“Please, just call me Phasma. Most everyone else does. And yes, I partook in an early morning meal with my comrades. If you like, the Captain had the porter bring you a robe. It is waiting for you in the washroom.”

“The Captain is quite thoughtful, isn’t he?” Hux noted a small flinch in Phasma’s expression at his employment of sarcasm. Upon slipping his arms into the plush navy-blue fabric of the robe, Hux began to regret his words. The Benedict was a fine establishment, but this robe was not theirs. Ren must have woken early and purchased it for him as a present.

“Very handsome,” Phasma said in her impeccably refined candance. She spoke as if having been trained with steady beat of a metronome.

“Quite,” Hux agreed, “better than walking around here in my underclothes. Especially with female company present.”

Phasma made a little grunt of displeasure.

Hux settled down at the dinning room table, taking his time to fix his coffee how he liked. Sugar would most likely be the first item to go scant in the coming months, so he made sure to get his fill.

Phasma continued to stand like a sentry, her spine fully erect and hands clasped behind her back.

“So, you’re English then?” Hux finally asked. “What part are you from?”

“West Sussex.”

“You can sit, if you like.” Phasma began to vocalize a declination, but Hux was too quick. “In fact, I insist you do! I do not know what Ren told you, but I am not in so much trouble I need a palace guard to watch over me.” It was clear Phasma was taken aback Hux’s glib attitude. No doubt Ren oversold his situation. “I really would rather not have anyone fuss over me.”

“Trust me,” Phasma said, giving Hux a slight nod as she took the seat beside him, “I understand how you feel.”

“You seem like a woman who can take care of herself,” Hux said flatly. “Enough she’s allowed to fight in an Army regiment.”

“You think they go around looking between every enlistee’s legs?” Phasma asked. “We do not typically keep our faces covered, but Captain Solo, _Mon Pere_ , insisted that I join him here in Charleston. We have found it gives us an imposing presence, one that must not be questioned.”

“He must think very highly of you.”

“Captain Solo is particular with who he surrounds himself with,” Phasma looked over at Hux, her eyes like the rolling waves of the Atlantic, deep blue-grey and full of secrets. “Understand, I was not stationed in this room because of my gender or origin. I know what it is like to be faced with stark reality of survival. Patricide is often a last resort, though it is the most effective.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Woman don’t become soldiers any more easily than Omegas gain their freedom.”

“I suppose he explained why; that my father wanted to marry me off?”

“It’s sick how they think they can own us,” there was true venom in Phasma’s words. “We make no request to be born, yet upon drawing our first breaths we are bound to an unspoken contract, to act as they wish us to or else be banished to the darkest corners of this world.”

“Obey us or else,” Hux commiserated.

“Or else,” Phasma barked a small laugh, “they never considered we would create an option of our own.”

Hux settled back in his chair.

“Tell more about yourself, Lieutenant Phasma. How did you come to meet our dear Captain Solo?”

Phasma had no problem sharing the details of her life. She related them in a sort of matter-of-fact tone, as if reading from a report. Still, Hux found they were oddly similar. She had coldly removed her father, a backwards thinking fool who saw her as nothing but chattel. From there, Phasma escaped to the port of New Orleans and lived many happy years as a gun for hire. In 1860, she crossed paths with the infamous Sir Solo, pirate warlord and smuggler in a steamboat casino where she bested him at a duel. Stories of the encounter reached Renault Solo’s ears and he was keen to meet the woman who had taken his cocky father down a peg…and managed to shoot off a chunk of his right ear.

As exciting as her tale was, Hux could not ignore the nagging jealously he felt about this woman’s life. This was not something drawn from but pages of a book, but adventure truly lived. Never before had been so acutely aware of how sheltered his life of John’s Island was.

 

* * *

 

 

“The day is late,” Phasma said around noon, long after the coffee had grown cold and the frenetic pace of the soldier’s morning routines outside had fallen to a negligible din. “And you do seem quite settled. I suppose I ought to head out.”

“Of course; thank you very much for joining me this morning.”

 “It has been my deepest honor to serve _Mon Pere’s_ mate,” Phasma said as she stood, giving Hux a curt bow, “I do hope our paths will cross again.”

“What did you just say?” Hux rose to his feet. The small animation in Phasma’s face fell flat, reverting to what Hux recognized as her sentry expression.

“That it has been an honor and I hope to spend more time with you. My apologies if I have stepped over some boundary.”

“I am not Ren’s mate,” Hux’s said slowly, “I do not know what rumor is circulating around you and your comrades, but Ren and I have in no way consummated our relationship.”

“Please understand, I did I mean to offend you. If anything, to be Captain Solo’s mate would be the highest honor. I told you, he is a solitary man who is particular about his company.” Phasma lowered her voice to match the sincerity of her words. “There are no rumors among us, we Zouaves are a family; Captain Solo is _Mom Pere_. If he has become partial to you, then you must be an exceptional person and we will welcome you to our fold with open arms.”

“I’m so sorry Phasma,” said Hux, “I didn’t-” the woman soldier raised her hand.

“I would have reacted the same way.”

They shared a small laugh and a few more parting words and then Phasma was off, wrapping her red sash around her face as she headed back out onto the streets.

Hux spent the rest of the day sorting through his items. Sloan had done well to pack him with his best clothes and some of the more expensive items from his room. Hux recounted his money and mentally decided what he would set aside as an offer of gratitude to Renault for keeping him safe.

While sorting through some sundries from his washroom, Hux made a horrible discovery; his suppressants had not been packed. They were often kept in an amber brown glass bottle next to his pomade and hair washe, both of which had been neatly wrapped up in a kerchief. Hux stared at the two items, utterly dumbfounded.

He was not angry, how could he be? In the chaos of the previous night, Hux was amazed he managed to have the foresight to collect the money from Brendol’s office. It was completely possible to procure some at a local apothecary in Charleston (the King Street shop where Hux bought all his vinegar bottles usually had them in stock) but being as he was in hiding, he could not go and get them himself.

He would have to tell Ren…

And Ren would know he was in danger of going into a heat.

At sundown, Hux spotted the darkly cloaked figure of Renault Solo moving through the crowd. His shoulders were slumped, his proud stride collapsed into shuffling little half-steps.

It was clear that the Captain had become wounded during training so Hux began to collect up tinctures and wraps from the bathroom. Certainly, Ren was not the type to seek the aid of a medic.

“Hux?” Ren’s voice called out through the suite. “Phasma? Are you still here?”

“She’s gone,” Hux entered the main room, items in tow.

“You like the robe?” Ren sounded as bone-weary as he looked. Still, he managed a small, devilish grin.

“Yes, yes, it’s very nice,” Hux approached, “are you all right? Can you stand up straight?”

“It’s nothing, I merely caught a small graze…,” Ren said, sitting down beside his map, his hand absently rubbing against his hip. Hux could see a clear tear in his vest, the fraying fabric stained with blood.

“Are you going to mend my wound?” Ren nodded to the rag and antiseptic in Hux’s hand.

“Did you talk to the medic?"

“Why would I?”

Hux sighed, kneeling beside Ren’s chair

“Let me see it.”

“It’s nice to know your motherly instincts are strong...”

“Take off your cape and help me with this bloody vest,” Hux snapped back and Ren begrudgingly obliged.

A graze was an understatement. The skin was split open, enough that Hux could see a greasy bit of adipose tissue. The bleeding had dwindled down to a trickle, though the fact the wound was still leaking was worrisome.

“You could get an infection,” Hux scolded as he cleaned out the wound, completely ignoring Ren’s childish hisses of pain. Once satisfied, Hux neatly wrapped it, taking care to keep it a little loose so the skin could breath.

“I could get a cold, I could get an infection,” Ren chuckled as Hux helped him get his shirt off, “seems like I might need a good Omega to look after me.”

“Hush! I have no time for your nonsense; we have a very serious matter to discuss.”

Hux was pleased to see Ren was now trained enough to know when they were play fighting and when something was urgent and required attention. His face became placid, eyes fixed with the rapt attention of an eager student.

“Has something happened?”

“It seems, in my rush,” Hux drew in a deep breath, “I left my suppressants at Arkanis Hall.”

“I see.” Ren became thoughtful and Hux used the quiet moment as a chance to study the Captain's incredible frame. It was hard not to notice the scars, Hux’s eyes were constantly drawn to them. There were more than he remembered from the night at the Erso farm, but that night had been so dark and strange. In that faint firelight, Hux had been unable to understand the true breadth of Ren’s chest or note the thick, ropey details of his arms.

“I would absolutely understand if you wished to stay with Thanisson in his-”  

“No,” Hux said. Slowly, and somewhat awkwardly, he lowered himself down to his hands and knees and crawled over to Ren’s shocked expression. He then folded his arms on Ren’s knees and looked up into his dark eyes. “I want to stay right here.”

I do not know what you have been told about mating…”

“Nothing,” Hux made a pitiful laugh, “nothing except that I should be grateful when it happens. How lucky I will be when a good, strong Alpha decides to let me carry his pups.”

Ren reached out a hand to play with Hux’s hair, and Hux watched how every muscle rippled his skin as they worked to make the simple gesture happen.

“You will belong to me, and I will belong to you. There will be no person nor any distance that can break us. And you will need to consider this, Armitage. It had only been a day since you earned your freedom, and I am not foolish enough to think a man like myself is worthy of such a large forfeiture.”

“Ren…

“You do not have to choose now, but time is of the importance. When the heat comes,” Ren swallowed hard, “understand, you will lose the ability to think for yourself. I will not consider anything you say in that moment as consent…”

Hux pushed himself up just enough to sweetly kiss Ren’s lips. Ren, in response, nudged Hux’s jawline with his nose and Hux felt himself instinctively turn his head to exposing the soft crook of his neck for Ren to inspect.

The air hummed with tension. Hux admittedly had no idea why he had complied so easily. He had heard only second-hand that an Omega’s scent was strongest there. By the sheer virtue of the fact this information was brought in secretive whispers, Hux knew anything involving an Alpha and his neck would be as taboo as considering an Alpha and his slicked hole.

Hux’s thighs clenched at the feeling of Ren’s warm, damp tongue tracing its way up his neck made his shiver with delight. Ren then began to kiss and nip at it as if the tiny spot beneath Hux’s earlobe were the sweetest treat.

“I will claim you,” Ren whispered, “you will be forever marked as mine.”

"No man can promise forever."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I'm back from my vacation in Florida with an exciting revelation: the sun sets in the west. 
> 
> I note in one of my other fics that I am from California, which means I grew up with the sun setting over the ocean. 
> 
> Charleston is on the east coast. The sun rises over the ocean. So, uh, yeah. Gonna have to go back and clean up some of this fic lol. Coastal exceptionalism, it's a thing. 
> 
> THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO MADE IT TO ELEVEN CHAPTERS! I was not anticipating this fic to be this long, but you all have stuck with me and encouraged me to continue! Thank you so much, I couldn't do it without all the love, kudos, comments!

As the fire grew low, so did Ren’s strength.

They laid upon one another in the bed; Hux in the pillows and Ren lovingly cradled with his back against Hux’s chest. Hux relished in watching the handsome Captain drift in and out of consciousness, his long eyelashes fluttering wildly only a moment before he completely slipped under.

“You should sleep,” Hux would chide with a small laugh, “you’ve had a long day…”

“No,” said Ren, “one of these long days will be our last…”

When Ren finally dozed off, Hux chose not to spoil the quiet hours to ruminate on Ren’s bleak words. It was so much easier to just focus on the small things; the dancing light of the embers and the whispering voices from the rooms beneath them.

Hux refamiliarized himself with Ren’s scent. Never in his life had anyone told Hux that an Alpha could have an allure of their own. Maybe it was just Ren, maybe he just naturally carried the smoky smell of burn piles, of cloudy October days where the wind would whip through your best coat and chill you to the bone. It seemed appropriate for the Captain. Hux had always seen autumn as a time when the membrane that separated the tangible from the ethereal became dangerously thin. Nights would grow longer, days colder. You always found yourself a bit more on edge, yet hungry for tales of ghost and specters to rattle your senses.

 As sleep closed in, Hux wondered with his last clear thought if Ren was really worth his freedom, a prize he had paid for in blood. There was a sort of bittersweet irony that Ren’s recognition of Hux’s plight made him all the more appealing as a mate.

Darkness melted through his vision. Hux’s mind began to wander through his memories, seeking a time when life was less complicated. Few existed, but Hux’s dreams began to unfold with the taste of salty mist on his lips and the cold waves of the Atlantic rushing in and covering his bare feet in foam. Wind mussed his perfectly brushed back hair and blew it into his face. But Hux just smiled as he tucked it back behind his ear.

It seemed impossible that the beaches of Hilton Head would be so much more spectacular than his own island but Hux found himself absolutely breathless at the cool gradient of the water and soft, white sand. The reedy grasses along the dunes rattled against one another, playing the timeless song of sky and earth. Perfectly rounded white clouds sailed soundlessly across the horizon.

Hux looked down at his feet as another wave rolled in. Sea shells became exposed as the water ebbed away.

Another wave, and out.

Another wave…the water red with blood.

Hux’s eye went up to now meet the sight of the Charleston harbor. In the distance he could see Fort Sumter ablaze with the action of battle. Great sloop ships routinely opened fire, filling the sky with fire and smoke. Hux could feel the heat rush over his body.

“Armitage?” A gentle voice asked, Slowly, fearfully, Hux turned to see the remains of Renault Solo’s face. His pallid skin had been sliced a thousand times, what remained intact was shot through with twisting blue veins. Blood dripped from his lips and stained his teeth.

The true horror that caused Hux to cry was the thick gash across Ren’s neck, exposing the thick muscles and sinew beneath.

His eyes, now grey and glassy, looked through Hux just as Edrison Peavey’s dead eyes had.

“Armitage?” The horrible apparition asked again. As he spoke, more blood poured from the gaping wound and over the torn Zouave uniform.

“N-no…,” Hux shook his head, “Ren…”

A loud pounding began to fill the space between them.

“Will you still have me…?” Ren reached out and brushed a hand across Hux’s cheek. Hux shivered at the touch.

“You’re cold,” tears began to blur his vision.

The pounding got louder, faster. Hux wondered if it was his heart ready to beat from his chest.

“Will you still be mine forever?”

_Forever…_

“ _Mon Pere?_ ” Hux’s eyes flew open. He was back in the suite, Ren stirring to life in his arms. The banging was that of someone at the door. Hux’s fuzzy mind recognized the commanding voice accompanying it as Lieutenant Phasma. “The General is calling for an emergency meeting of all officers, your presence is required.”

Hux heard Ren release an exasperated sigh.

“ _Mon Pere_? Captain?” Phasma softened her voice, but her knocking remained firm.

“I’m coming,” Ren pushed up with a groan from Hux’s arms. One eye level, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Hux’s lips. “Will you miss me?”

Hux felt his throat tighten. The few, thinning vestiges of his dream dug their claws into his mind. As the quiet seconds passed, Ren’s expression began to crumble.

“Of course,” Hux pushed out, his words faint and breathless. “And you can tell that greedy General Beauregard I do not appreciate him constantly taking my bed warmer from me…”

“I will tell him that from here on out, I will only be of service to General Hux.”

“Good,” Hux said, feeling a bit more grounded under Ren’s adoring smile. He craned his head up just enough to brush their noses together. “You are dismissed.”

Ren lowered himself for one last kiss before crawling awkwardly out from the covers.

“On my way, Lieutenant!” He shouted at the door.

“I’ll wait here!” Phasma called back.

Hux turned over onto his side, head resting in his hand as he watched Ren fiddle with all the painstaking detail of his uniform. The only item that slipped on with any ease was his cape, which pinned neatly on his left shoulder with the wolf’s head broach.

Though it all, Hux did not say a word. Just watched Ren dress with a curious smile on his face. As Ren opened the door to greet Phasma on the other side, Hux quickly barked out:

“Try not to get shot again.”

“It was a graze,” Ren said over his shoulder.

“I respectfully disagree,” said Phasma.

“Lieutenant Phasma?” Phasma turned to Hux’s address, adjusting her posture to show that he had her complete attention. “Please make certain the Captain sees a medic today, would you?”

“I shall, Mr. Hux.”

“Thank you.”

Ren made a little huff as he stomped past Phasma.

The solitary days were not as awful as one would have expected. Hux would read near the window, enjoying the warmth of the budding spring sun and peeking periodically down at the flurry of activity in the streets. Many civilians packed up their worldly belongings to head out to the safety of the country. Those who stayed offered their services to the troops, cooking meals and brining knitted socks and hats and gloves down in the cool twilight hours to the men circled around the bonfires. Hux would scan the passing clusters medics and volunteer nurses for Mitaka’s face but never did he see his old friend. Hux began to wonder if Mitaka’s father had sent for him to rejoin his family in Columbia.

In the evening, Ren would return to the suite and promptly unpin his cape and undo his boots and vest. Hux would go to meet him and wordlessly they expressed how deeply they had missed the other. It was thrilling to learn the subtle language Ren’s body spoke. To feel his muscle become tight while his lips remained open and welcoming. To know when Ren wanted to be strong or when he wanted to crawl into the big bed and just have Hux hold him until he fell asleep.

With each passing day, Hux felt Ren had happened upon a store of keys, each one able to unlock the deep secrets he had kept buried inside. The bricks of his wall, the ones Hux had so meticulously put up around him, were now tumbling down in great, crashing heaps. Tiny moments would pass between them, when Ren would reach over in the night and run the backside of his hand down Hux’s face. Permission was not needed, not even considered.

Hux himself began to indulge his own curiosities and Ren was happy to oblige.

Often Hux just wanted to look at Ren’s naked form. If he touched it, his movements were lazy and aimless. Hux found his favorite thing to do was run his fingers down the trail of black hair from Renault’s naval down to his cock, which Hux would tug playfully at.

 “When I’m with you, it’s like there isn’t even a war,” Ren said one night, Hux’s head resting against his shoulder, their legs intertwined beneath the sheets. “Nothing matters; good or bad.”

“Am I expected to take that as a sort of compliment?” Hux shifted himself so he could look into Ren’s dark and deeply worried eyed. “Or should I be concerned?”

“I don’t really know,” Ren’s words stumbled out with genuine nervousness.

“Yes, you do,” Hux brushed his nose against Ren’s, which inspired a quick smile. “Come now love; I am used to your childish brooding, but this is more than that, isn’t it?” Ren nodded, “Let’s have it then.”

Ren drew in a deep breath.

“I do not think we should be mated.”

 “W-what?” Hux stammered, stiffening his limbs and arching his back like an angered alley cat. “After everything we’ve-” Ren smartly moved to silence him with a kiss. Hux fought it for only a short moment before giving in completely, melting back down into the bed. Tentatively, Ren reached up and pulled Hux into his chest.

“Please, just listen to me; please…” His words reflected how pained he was by his own proposal.

“Why?” Hux struggled slightly against Ren’s grip.

“Everyday we’re getting closer to the moment we will be forced to part. I’m going to be sent hundreds of miles from you; far from your condescending laugh, from your warm touch. I’ll sleep each night alone in a tent and wake without your scent beside me. Just _knowing_ this, it’s almost unbearable. And if we mate…”

Hux pressed his forehead into Ren’s.

“The pain will be that much worse.”

“And I can’t do that to you.”

“Me?” Hux asked.

“You have to understand,” Ren began, “my mother was the strongest person I ever knew. But each time my father left, a small part of her became so deeply consumed with anger and hurt that it was lost forever. Piece by piece, he broke her down. She left for Europe just a shadow of the woman she was.

“I know I asked you what you wanted and promised to adhere to your wishes, but I do not think either one of us considered the long, bloody war that lies ahead. They say mating is the greatest expression of love, to create that unbreakable bond,” Ren locked his eyes with Hux’s, reminding Hux so much of the simple and trusting look Allegretto used to give him, “but that bond also has the ability to turn to hatred. I have seen it with my own eyes. If I were to die-”

“Stop,” Hux said sharply, “I refuse to listen to you speak like that.”

 “Perhaps we ought to leave well enough alone,” Ren whispered, “enjoy this small moment in time while it last.”

Hux tried not to think of his dream, but the incessant image of Ren’s corpse refused to be ignored and continued to push its way into his forethoughts.

As did Sloan’s parting words to him.

Life would become hard, even brutal outside the safety of his island.

 The easier choice had always been to go with Peavey to the territories. In truth, it would have been the last choice he would ever have to make. Peavey would certainly possess a whole slew of family names, both male and female, for the immense brood Hux would produce. Hux would just have to be pretty and happy and die and be buried next to the man he never felt an ounce of warmth for.

 “There is nothing you can do that would cause me to hate you,” said Hux. “Annoy me, yes,” he smiled, “but I understand that you are a solider. I understood that long before I allowed myself to be charmed by you. To act offended by it and all it entails now is just foolish.” Hux leaned in and place an off-center kiss on Ren’s lips, felt the warm exhale of Ren’s breath on his face. “I want to bond with you, Captain Renault Solo; have chosen you.”

“And if I die,” Ren began again, “you will never be able to bond again; do you understand that?”

“I would have no reason to. You are mine, and I am yours,” Hux laid his head back down on Ren’s chest. “Forever.”

On the morning of April tenth, the sun rose into a sky hazy with a grey layering of clouds. Two hundred dressed down sloop ships rocked in the strong winds rushing in from the Atlantic. Hux sat in an armchair he had pulled up to the window, hands tightly clasped around his second cup of hot coffee.

“Will the attack be tonight?” He asked when Ren walked up behind him, his eyes never straying from the harbor.

“No, but soon.”

“You know that I will never forgive you if you’re lying to me now.”

“I would never lie to you,” Ren bent down to place a small kiss on Hux’s cheek. As he drew back, Hux could hear him sniffing at his hair.

“What?”

“Are you feeling warm?” Ren asked cautiously.

“A little but,” Hux said, shifting himself away in his seat, “it’s just the coffee, I’m sure…”

Come noon though, Hux began to realize that was not the case.

It began with him feeling just a touch light-headed. Hux had often survived the day with just a cup of coffee and an orange or apple, so such unpleasantness was not foreign to him. He tried to start a new book but kept losing his place or forgetting what had just happened on the previous page.

When his skin became flush and damp and Hux began removing his clothing for comfort, that was when the worry set in. As his temperature rose, the fog in his mind grew thicker. The narrow corridor of his mind could only focus on one thought: He was going into a heat.

_He was going into a heat._

* * *

 

Ren could barely breathe in the hot, stuffy bar adjacent to The Benedict’s lobby. All the soldiers had packed in tight to celebrate the General’s announcement; the attack on Fort Sumter would commence in two days. An early morning raid would commence, a stunning declaration of war upon The Union. Some of the men around the piano tried to grab at Ren, throw an arm around his soldier and cajole him in singing a line or two of ‘ _Dixie_ ’.

Ren just pulled away with a scowl.

There was no honor in this battle. The soldiers of Fort Sumter were weak and starved. Little supplies had made in past the Confederate blockades. Still, the men drank and hooted and hollered and talked about the ones they would marry when they returned from war.

Ren kept pushing through the crowd until he reached the stairs in the lobby, the sound of ‘ _Dixie_ ’ following him as he ran up to Hux.

_Then I wish I was in Dixie, Horray! Horray!_

_In Dixie land I’ll take my stand._

_To live and die in Dixie!_

_Away, Away, Away down south in Dixie!_

_Away, Away, Away down south in Dixie!_

“Hux?” Ren called out the moment he entered his suite. “Hux? Did you hear the news-?” Jasmine and citrus hit Ren so hard it nearly knocked him off his feet.

“Ren?” A muted plea came from the bathroom.

“I’m here,” Ren rushed to Hux’s called, “I’m coming.”

He found Hux lying in the large porcelain enameled tub, his breaths coming in heaving gasp. The apples of his cheeks were a shade of red almost identical to his hair.

 “It’s cool in here,” Hux explained to, what Ren assumed, his bewildered expression.

“When did it start?” Ren asked, kneeling down beside the tub. “I knew you smelled different this morning…”

“When you sniffed at me like a hungry dog?” Hux’s resentful tone broke into a sudden whimper. His bent legs began to tremble, and his hands reached up grip the lip of the tub so tightly it was as if he were afraid to be swept away.

“It comes in waves,” Hux explained once the episode passed. “Like fire, rolling under my skin and,” he licked some of the sweat from his upper lip, “it aches, Ren…it feels like a horrible tangle of knots deep in my stomach that keeps getting tighter…”

Hux began to writhe, his movement indicating that his greatest discomfort was between his legs. A stain, one just a bit darker than the ivory linen fabric, stretched down both legs of Hux’s undergarments.

“You’re,” Ren hesitated, not wanting to be crude, but there were no other words to describe Hux’s condition. “You’re slick.”

“It’s vile,” Hux groaned, lolling his head over to rest against the side of the tub, twisting his eyes shut.

“What do you want me to do?” Ren asked. Hux made a needy whine.

“Mate me,” damp hair fell into his face, “I need you to…Ren…”

“I’m here,” Ren hushed, “I’m here.” He slid an arm under Hux’s bent knee and another around his torso. The red head did nothing to fight him.

Ren had never seen an Omega in a full heat before.

Even the whores calling to him from the balconies on Bourbon Street managed to get ahold of some dried herb or tincture to keep the worst of the symptoms away. Their scent though would remain strong, wafting through the narrow streets and mingling with the musty river air. Ren had anticipated Hux would be as playfully coquettish as the brothel workers. Always did they have a pet name for him when he would walk past, always did they wave their handkerchiefs and throw kisses as if was a long-lost lover, finally retuning home.

Hux seemed delirious, almost unwell in his heat. He laid on the bed, positively limp as Ren removed his bottoms.

It was odd to see him so languid yet fully erect. Ren felt the rush of blood to his own cock at the sight of Hux’s firm member dribbling precum over his belly. There was something so obscene in Hux’s unawareness or, perhaps, downright apathy over his condition. He was hot and aroused but could do nothing to engage in a solution, only hope that Ren would take care of the problem for him.

Ren’s uniform was suddenly too constrictive. It had always suffered from superfluous details, such was the plight of being a Confederate Captain. Now it was like a cage with impossible locks and fastens. Every second spent on them was torture.

When his bare skin was finally free, Ren could have sworn he felt the touch of Hux’s scent drag its fingers over it. Gentle, cool, leaving tightened gooseflesh skin in its wake. Knees quaking, Ren took a seat beside the naked, blushing man in the bed.

“Just go slow,” Hux’s eyes opened just a peek, “slow…”

“Of course,” Ren assured, though he was not certain it was a promise he could keep. Blind hunger was taking over. A need that called out for Hux, though Ren was not certain Hux alone would be enough to sate it.

In some perfectly lucid moment, Hux reached up and brushed aside some of the hair clinging to Ren’s sweaty brow.

“I trust you,” his blue-green eyes were perfectly clear. Ren merely nodded and positioned himself between Hux’s shamelessly open legs.

Hux was hot; burning hot inside. Ren let out a primal cry that relayed back no sense of pain or pleasure as he pushed in. Hux was quiet, whatever he was feeling was expressed the tight winding of his fist in the sheets.

It happened quickly.

 Hux was so tight, the viscous slick lubricating his hole removed nearly all friction. The sight of him undulating, trying both to get away and draw close was the most beautiful thing Ren had ever seen. Over and over, with each thrust, Ren’s brain reminded him that his creature was his. That this creature had presented himself to him, to be taken. To be consumed wholly.

When Hux came, he barely made a sound. His face wrinkled up and his body trembled, but from his lips only the smallest, most blissful gasp was released. Ren knew he was close. Desperately he wanted this to last all night, into the morning. It was the first time in his life he ever felt like a true Alpha. He had worked hard to earn this mate. _His_ mate…

His mate.

His…

Hux looked up at him through the dreamy cloud of climax, and Ren knew his thoughts were the same; he is mine, he is my mate…

Ren’s head flew back as his body shuddered with release. He made noises, odd noises as his grip dug into Hux’s soft skin.

And then he collapsed on top of Hux’s chest, desperate to catch his breath.

There was no time to revel in the afterglow. Though thoroughly exhausted, Ren knew he needed to remove himself from Hux before his knot began to swell.

“No,” Hux whispered, locking his ankles together behind Ren’s back. “Don’t…”

“Hux-”

Hux only responded by arching his body against Ren’s, grinding their hips together.

Ren found the sensation of his cock growing thick again inside Hux’s warmth too wonderful to ignore. He gave in to his weariness and allowed himself to go completely limp in Hux’s arms.

Somewhere in the knotting, they both fell asleep, naked and wrapped up in the luxe Benedict bedding.

Down in the bar, men drank and sang.

In the train station, families sat huddled with their meager possessions in hopes of finding safety from the battle.

In his headquarters, General P. G. T. Beauregard served fine bourbon to his officers as they dined on smothered pheasant and wild rice. Poe Dameron sat among them; smiling, joking, joining in the cheers.

Inwardly though there was a great sea of unease churning.

His kiss with Armitage still lingered on his lips, no matter how many whores he kissed or how many drinks he had. His taste, his smell, haunted him like a ghost even among the company of other men.

Poe was certain he was going to take a bullet. This was would not end until every man, north and south was dead. He was going to die alone in a field.

Alone, save for the taste of Armitage Hux on his lips.


	12. Chapter 12

_I doubt any city was ever more terribly punished than Charleston, but as her people had for years been agitating for war and discord, and had finally inaugurated the Civil War, the judgment of the world will be that Charleston deserved the fate that befell her._

— General William Tecumseh Sherman

 

Ren was the first to wake.

Hux was snoring softly, curled into Ren’s chest like a house cat seeking warmth. The morning light gave his hair a sort of coppery shine and brought definition to the sharp slope of his nose and the little frown lines around his mouth.

He seemed so innocent. It was almost impossible to believe Hux had come to Ren only a few nights ago, blood on his hands and murder on his lips. Hair and clothes an absolute mess. Not a shred of regret in his ice-grey eyes.

Now?

A house cat.

 Even his little snores sounded like purrs.

Ren drew Hux in a little closer, their foreheads now touching and Hux’s sour morning breath filing the small space between them. Periodically, Ren would run his nose along Hux’s hairline or try to count all the faded freckles that danced across his face. It was wonderful to be able to take all the time he needed to explore his lover, to explore his new mate.

Each time the simple word crossed his mind, Ren shivered with absolute elation.

“ _Mon Perre_!” Ren’s eyes went wide at the sound of Phasma pounding on the door.

Hux made a little snort and jerked his head up. A small muttering of words tumbled from his lips before falling back down. Ren had heard it was fairly common for an Omega to sleep up to a full day after mating; and sleep hard. As tightly as he had tangled their limbs, and as complicated as the extraction process was, Hux did not stir again.

Ren only slipped on a pair of under trousers before opening the door.

“Good morning Captain,” Phasma greeted Ren’s bare chest with the cool reverence of a soldier. If the sight of the naked Hux in his bed unnerved her, she did not show it. “We have been given our orders for this evening’s preparations; I believe we are to be sent out to Fort Johnson at sundown. General Beauregard has asked-”

“Handle it,” Ren said quickly, “whatever it is, I am putting you in charge.”

“As flattered as I am, we are talking about the preparations for the attack,” Phasma lowered her voice, “This is it; the war begins tomorrow morning. Fort Sumter will define the trajectory of the Confederacy. You need to be there.”

Ren looked over his shoulder to see Hux’s pale skin painted gold in the morning light. Though he spoke no words, made no gestures, Hux was still somehow calling for him to return to the bed. Ren could not shake the overwhelming sense of duty he felt, as Hux’s mate, to stay at his side while he recovered from the knotting.

“Renault…”

“Then I will give you another task” Ren turned sharply back to his Lieutenant, “I need you to stay with him while I’m away.”

“You have mated,” Phasma’s words were breathless, but she did not seem surprised. Still, Ren felt his cheeks sting with hot embarrassment that she had the opportunity to say it before him.

“I will stay here with him,” Phasma said quickly. “It would be a great honor.”

“Come inside,” Ren gestured for her to follow him in. As they passed the bed, Phasma reached down to draw the blankets up and over the sleeping Hux’s bare skin.

“For dignity’s sake,” she said stolidly to Ren’s bemused expression.

“I knew you were the right woman for the job.”

Ren then led her to the closet and pushed aside his uniforms to find his cape.

“Here,” he said, turning with a flash of red in his hand, “I want you to have this.”

“I cannot take this,” Phasma immediately recognized the wolf’s head broach, “it is-”

“Yours now,” Ren reached out to the shocked Phasma and attached his broach to her vest. “I still remember when my father gave it to me. He said fools fear the wolf, they only see its claws and fangs and dismiss it as a stupid beast. If one only takes a moment, they can see the wolf’s true nature; that they are loyal, that they are brave. That they carry old spirits within them which makes them natural leaders.

“I don’t know why he gave it to me,” he smiled. “Perhaps to find the one who was meant to wear it.”

“ _Mon Perre_ ,” Phasma gasped, horrified, “you have been an excellent leader, all the men agree!”

“Then you are all better than I deserve,” said Ren. “Now, if I am to face what will certainly be a vexing day, I must at the very least get dressed.”

* * *

 

With each step Ren took down from top floor of The Benedict, the more he began to pine for those small details he had been exploring; Hux’s freckles and wrinkles as his awful morning breath. Ren wanted to be back in their small world, far away from the electric excitement of war that whirled around him like a hurricane.

“Captain Solo?” A meek voice asked when Ren reached the bottom step.

“Yes?” The young girl behind the front desk held out an envelope to him, eyes cast down.

“Mr. Rivas asked for me to give this to you as soon as I saw you.”

“Is that so?” Ren took the envelope and turned it over in his hand, “Did he give you indication about what might be in here?”

“No sir…”

“Very well, here,” Ren gave the girl a small coin in return. “See you get yourself somewhere safe by nightfall.”

“I will sir, thank you!”

Ren did not think much of the letter. Though he had no earthly idea what Sol Rivas would want from him (aside from a bill as certainly the Confederate Army stipend did not cover what it cost to feed two full grown men) he had little curiosity to read the contents of the envelope with his name so neatly written across the front.

Besides, there were more pressing matters to attend to.

The day was just a blur of meetings; first General Beauregard, then the first sergeants, then the regular sergeants, and then he was forced to explain to his men why there were no plans to make landfall on the island.

The simple idea that it was a tactic to reduce casualties was not good enough for them. When Ren left, despite his words, they began fastening their bayonets to their rifles.

In between everything else, Ren found himself constantly running into Poe Dameron. Though they were both Captains, Poe’s troops were to be sent to Fort Moultrie, far on the other side of the harbor from Fort Johnson. There was little reason for him to keep catching the man’s dark, haunting eyes, yet everywhere he looked there they were.

It was not until late afternoon that Ren was able to sneak away to have a little lunch and some whiskey at the Yavin Saloon. Once sated, he opened the letter from Rivas to see what he owed the man.

But it was not a bill.

_Dear Captain Solo,_

_It is hard to say if this is the right way to broach this delicate conversation. Forgive me the faux pas of not saying this directly to your person, but here it is; I have known since his arrival that Armitage Hux is in your quarters._

Ren felt like vomiting.

_I should say, Thomas knew first and then shared the information with me. He had been kept awake one night by your soldier’s merry making and he saw Armitage arrive disheveled and carrying all his worldly possessions right into the hotel. But not to our room._

_Ren, my dear husband begged me not to say a word but to go out to Arkanis Hall and see what trouble had befallen his dear friend. There is little doubt in my mind Armitage told you was transpired there._

_I have not shared what I saw with a single soul, only Thomas, who was pleased that his friend, as he put it, finally did that old bastard in._

_This is in no way a form of blackmail or a passing of judgement on the situation. As you know, Thomas adores Armitage, and very much wants to see his friend again. I myself have some business with Armitage that I would like to settle, something that might be of interest to you._

_Thomas and I would like for both you and Armitage to join us this evening. I have been allowed leave from my company but only for a few hours. Please consider this, Captain Solo. Or, at the very least, please share this message with Armitage._

_Thank you._

Ren left the remains of his meal and rushed backed to The Benedict.

* * *

 

By the time Hux woke, the Charleston skyline was just a hazy silhouette against the dusty blue of sundown. Though tenderly cradled in the comforter and blankets and pillows of the bed, Hux was acutely aware of how sore his body was. Inwardly he smiled at the small flash-of-a-thought that the pain was akin to what he might feel after riding Allegretto long and hard down on the wet beach sands of Johns Island.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hux.”

Hux flopped over in the bed.

“Lieutenant Phasma,” he sighed, “we must stop meeting like this.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Phasma was sitting beside the table of maps, sipping at some tea as she casually perused them.

“Did our dear Captain Renault order you to be my nanny again? Ugh,” Hux let out a low groan as he rose up from the blankets, rubbing his eyes. Phasma waited patiently as he gathered her bearings and politely averted her eyes when he rose to fetch his robe.

“How long have you been here?”

“All day,” Phasma released an understandingly bored sigh.

“How dreadfully dull,” Hux said, tightening the robe as he walked back into the main room. A pregnant pause hung between them, their eyes catching the other’s and transmitting a dare to speak next.

“You’re a smart woman,” Hux finally broke, “if Ren did not tell you then I am sure you figured it out yourself.”

Phasma nodded.

“I am happy for you both; though, it would be nicer I circumstances were not what they were.”

“Circumstances meaning war?”

“Yes, Mr. Hux.”

“It must be soon,” Hux said quietly, “last night when he returned, I remembered him asking me if I had heard the news,” he swallowed down the lump building in his throat. “How long do we have?”

“The bombardment on the fort begins in the morning.”

Hux’s eyes went back to the window; it was now sundown, which meant there was only one night, one half moon and a sea of stars between him and eternity. An unfamiliar instinct shot through him and drew his hand to his belly. For a moment they lingered and Hux found a strange comfort in holding the position; one neatly folded over the other.

“I think,” Hux began slowly, “I think I might like to freshen up…”

“Of course,” Phasma said, getting to her feet. “Is there anything else you need from me?” Hux smiled.

“No, you are dismissed for the evening. I am sure you have better things to do tonight than dote on me.”

“Mr. Hux,” Phasma said, catching Hux before he turned to head to the washroom.

“Yes Lieutenant?”

“As I have said before; it is a great honor to be in your service.”

“Thank you,” Hux said quietly, “I wish you the best of luck for tomorrow.”

Hux sat down at the small vanity in the washroom; the same reflection he had grown up with the last twenty-two years looked back.

Well, sort of.

With age had come the squaring of the jaw, the loss of baby fat and the definition of his cheekbones. Those slow, subtle changes that always seemed to happen over summer holiday. Hux felt as though during the last week he had gone through the same magical transformation. Carefully he studied the varied shades of blue and green and small flecks of gold in his eyes; something was different.

He was no longer a rose. No longer soft petals guarded with cruel barbs. He was the mate of an Alpha and, just as the moon passed from full to new, Hux had entered a new phase of his life.

“You look so lovely like that, lost in thought,” Hux glanced up in the mirror to see the reflection of Ren standing in the doorway. His hair was pulled back out of his face, letting Hux see the full run of the scar from his jaw to his hairline. His eyes were wide but dreamy, like a child when a blindfold has been pulled off and an exciting present placed before him. A full smile exposed the teeth his parents clearly spent much money on, an unfortunate investment considering how little Ren ever showed them off.

“I look like a man who has slept the day away,” Hux said, running his fingers through his mussed hair. An unexpected yawn broke his scowl.

Ren made a sort of sympathetic coo as he crossed the room. He placed his hands on Hux’s shoulders and leaned down to place a kiss in the crook his neck. Slowly, Hux lolled his head aside to give Ren better access to the spot.

 “Other than tired, how are you feeling?”

“I’m,” Hux felt himself fall apart under Ren’s hypnotic touch, “I’m just really tired…mostly…”

Ren lifted his head slightly and placed a kiss on Hux’s cheek and the red-head leaned into it, suddenly craving every bit of his mate’s adoration.

“I wanted to be here when you woke,” said Ren, “I wanted to have one last morning-”

“Hush,” Hux pulled back, allowing their eyes to meet, “we still have one last night, let’s not waste it.”

Hux quickly stood, taking Ren by surprise and reaching out to pull his curly hair from its tie. In a great black wave it fell delicately around Ren’s face.

“Are you sure?” Ren asked, “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t,” Hux assured. “Isn’t that part of it?”

“Part of what?”

“You are my mate,” said Hux, “and nothing you do can hurt me, because I am your dear one and only.” Before Ren could process these words, Hux broke out in a laugh. “Can you believe I had such nonsense fed to me?”

“It’s true though,” Ren said somewhat sheepishly as Hux reached up to push some his hair behind his protruding ears, “I would never hurt you.”

“I know that, I have always known that. Even when I hated you, I trusted you.” Hux smiled, “Do you think I would drink and sleep in the company of any man?”

“Ah yes!” Ren laughed, “The rainy afternoon when your reputation was ruined.”

“You think I told anyone about that? Well,” Hux shrugged, “I told Sloane because I could trust her too; probably more than you. And, as much as I love Mitaka and Thanisson, put a little champagne in either one of them-”

“Thanisson,” Ren groaned, “dammit…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I suppose I will let you learn the same way I did,” Ren reached into his coat and handed Hux the folded letter from Rivas. He watched as Hux’s expressions changed over the slow doling of information before closing his eyes and releasing a sigh.

“Well; it could be worse.”

* * *

About a half hour later, Hux was dressed and the two were heading down to Riva’s suite. Once more the bar was packed with drunken revelry and songs that carried all the way up to the top floors of The Benedict.

“Armitage!” Hux was not at all surprised to be the target of Thanisson’s leaping hug. “I have been so worried about you!”

Ren and Rivas exchanged far less theatrical pleasantries, shaking hands and commenting about the long night ahead of them. Ren barely recognized one once so affable hotel owner. His eyes were weary and distant, the golden locks of his hair had faded to a sort of dishwater blonde that fell limply on either side of his sullen face.

“So, did you do it?” Thanisson asked as he pulled back, his brown eyes wide as sauces, “Did you kill your father and Tarkin?” Hux smirked.

“And Edrison Peavey,” he looked to Rivas, “did you not go upstairs? I left his bloated corpse on my bed!”

“I headed back here as fast as I could,” said Rivas, “I certainly did not want to be caught out there!”

“I wish you would have come and told me,” said Thanisson.

“I’m sorry,” Hux shook his head, “it all happened so suddenly, I barely had time to think.”

“What happened to Sloane? Is she with you?”

“No, she headed north; I gave her Allegretto.”

“Stars,” Thanisson gasped. “Oh, but please!” He tugged on his friend’s hand, “Come, sit! You’re our guest after all.”

“Yes,” said Rivas, gesturing for Ren to take a sit, “make yourselves comfortable; there is much to discuss.”


End file.
